


Silver & Gold

by Witch_of_Hot_Cocoa



Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, BRIGGS Patricia - Works, Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Crossover, Cthulhu Mythos, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Lovecraftian Monster(s), M/M, Magic, Marrok Pack freeform, Pack Dynamics, Romance, Werewolf Courting, werewolf dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-01-27 04:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 82,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12574124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witch_of_Hot_Cocoa/pseuds/Witch_of_Hot_Cocoa
Summary: When an old friend of Bran's passes away, he finds in his care an Omega. She is young, naive, and quiet, but has a boldness to her and does not fear the Marrok - something that annoys him. Their fates are quickly twined together, taking them down a difficult and complex path. Trouble stirs when the deeper ones do, and the werewolves are on the front line of a conflict no one saw coming.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning; a prologue.

Geordi slammed his car door so hard it dented. 

Rob was already inside, three steps ahead of him. His father’s house smelled like saltwater, old book pages, and werewolf, the mingled scents of Geordi’s father and his ward. Nothing seemed out of place, when they came to a stop in the foyer. Jethro had always been a meticulous man, and his house had always been orderly, even when Geordi was human and young. 

Jethro and his ward’s shoes were by the door, lined along the perfect rectangle of carpet he’d put there. Geordi scowled at the shoes. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he didn’t like Jethro’s ward. Instead of fixing his relationship with his living son, Geordi’s father had gone and picked up a stray to foster a new relationship. Replaced him. 

“Upstairs.” Rob said, just seconds after the scent of death wafted down the stairway. 

They charged up and barely made it down the hall when they saw her, crumpled on the floor outside the master bedroom’s door. She was soaking wet, and the puddle forming under her was colored by blood. 

“I’m sorry-” She sobbed, unable to look at them. “-I should have told you sooner. He made me promise.” 

Rob knelt before the girl, shushing her. She shrank away from him, still sobbing. “What’s happened?” He asked, voice ever so soft. She pushed away from the door, turning her face away, and Geordi charged past. 

He fell to his knees, a mournful howl rising from his throat. He’d wanted the feeling to be wrong, but there lay his father, draped over his bed with the silk sheets pulled over his entire body. The bed was as soaked as the girl, and Geordi saw and smelled the blood and silver. 

The girl sobbed again, loud and broken. Geordi wanted to kill her, to kill her as she did his father. But all his wolf wanted was to mourn. Rob wrapped his arm around Geordi’s shoulders and he turned to bury his face in his shirt. The air was filled with the sounds of sobs, the smell of blood, and the taste of death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins! Will attempt to make updates weekly. I'm actually incredibly excited about this work and feel like I have much more to work with now. This is just a small taste. Maybe I'll wait the week to post the first chapter, but maybe I'll post it sooner.


	2. Chapter 2

Bran never liked funerals.

Even less when they were for those he considered his friends. Jethro wasn’t as nearly as old as Bran was, but he’d known him for a few hundred years before coming to North America. The old wolf had been one of the first to follow after him and fall in when Bran began to build his new world. He was a good friend, to Bran and his sons, and the sudden death was shaking.

The funeral was private, for Jethro’s family, pack, and those few who knew him otherwise; he had been the second to the Alpha of South Florida. He was well loved by his pack and it was evident, as all 28 members were present with their families.

Jethro had evidently left behind a sort of list of instructions for his funeral. Not too long, no long and droning bible chatter, lots of drinking and a big, big barbecue at the Manor afterwards. Bran had smiled when Jareth’s alpha, Robert, told him. Jethro was like that.

The service was short. But there was a tension in the air that was tangible. There were a few members of the pack who looked and radiated more than just grief, but anger as well. Bran glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of a girl standing in the back of the chapel while everyone else sat amongst the pews; hands folded in front of her, distant expression mixed lightly with grief.

She'd been the one to kill Jethro. To Bran, she looked less like a killer, and more like someone who’d cut their own heart out.

Bran tried not to focus too hard on the proceedings. If he could be anywhere it wouldn't be here; so soon after he'd laid his mate to rest. Perhaps a few years may seem a long time for most, but for old ones like Bran, it was but a blink of time. It almost felt like it was just yesterday that Leah’s body had been fished from the river, that he had felt the sudden and tragic loss of her bond to him.

Anna had been his saving grace. The Omega was able to soothe the wild rage that rose in backlash from the loss. After the first few weeks she packed up a backpack and moved into his guest room beside Bran’s; Samuel came home and took the downstairs guest room. Charles was by almost daily, and Kara spent much more of her time with Asil or Sage now to spare his temper.

Anna had helped. Oh, so much. He’d probably have lost his control within days had she not swooped in with her lullabies and her smiles.

Jethro’s death had given a hard shove to his precariously teetering control. He grieved his friend’s loss. There had been little warning. Jethro had been quiet these past years, but nothing would have led them to expect his demise.

The service was over. Charles was standing, watching him expectantly when Bran realized it was done. “Anna will meet us at the condo later. Rob is already on his way to the house.”

Bran glanced over his shoulder to the back of the church once more. The girl was gone.

* * *

Rob, Bran, and Charles met Rob’s daughter Marissa at Jethro’s house. Marissa was Rob’s only child of four to survive the Change and was a loyal member of his pack; she liked to flirt with Charles because she thought it was fun. She brought the girl with her.

She looked younger up close, her face full of the freshness of a high school student. She was built looking soft and curvy, her womanly curves pronounced and barely hidden by the oversized, woven sweater and loose dress she wore. Her honey colored hair was braided and rolled into a bun atop her head, hiding its length, and her gray eyes were tinged red from crying.

She wasn't pretty in the conventional sense. Her nose was too wide and it made her mouth look small, but the softness to her features was drawing in their own way. She was strange looking, for a werewolf. Too human, too soft looking. Her scent mingled with the mint and musk of wolf, but stronger was the salt and sea of the area; something Bran wondered if it was in the air or in her. Nothing Bran could normally see in a wolf was in her, save for the way she walked.

Despite having Marissa’s arm around her shoulders - tight and comforting, as if the girl would bolt at any moment - she carried the grace of a wolf in her heels as they walked across the dirt. Not once did a heel punch into the ground, but she looked as though she walked normal. Something radiated from her as she took each step, something other than the power of a wolf. It slipped around the dominance Marissa carried and wove like silk into the air around Bran.

Charles narrowed his eyes at her. “Da.” He said. Bran nodded once. “Did you know the girl was an Omega?” He asked, turning to Rob.

Rob shook his head. “Not at first. I've never met one before, and she quite deliberately avoided everyone but Marissa. I didn't understand what to make of it when I first felt it.” He said. “Sandra was the one who explained it.”

Sandra, Rob’s wife and Marissa’s mother, was rather young to be as experienced as she was. She was a brilliant woman.

“Why don't we go inside?” Marissa pressed, as she guided the girl up the porch.

Rob opened the door and they let the ladies walk in first. The girl slipped away from Marissa’s arm once she stepped inside, stepping out of her shoes and lining them on the stretch of carpet in the hall; there were three other pairs of shoes, men’s sneakers and dress shoes and women’s sandals. The girl straightened slightly as she went across the foyer and disappeared down the hall.

“She's been living with Jethro for a few years.” Marissa explained. “He took her in after a werewolf killed her family and changed her.” The lot of them followed the girl’s example, slipping off their shoes and setting them by the door.

“And he didn't tell you he had a stray living with him?” Bran asked Rob, as they took to the living room. Jethro’s sitting room was painted in darker, neutral colors, the walls mostly bare where they weren’t filled with bookshelves. The windows were framed by silk curtains that smelled of dust, the sills were lined with ceramic pots on long trays, each filled with slightly wilted looking flowers and plants. The furniture was black and antique, the coffee table having rings from cups on it. The fireplace, complete with a lovely, ornately carved redwood mantle, was gutted and changed to suit both the room and the weather. The firebox was replaced with shelves of books, and the raised hearth was covered in thick, cushiony pillows.

“Not until Geordi made him.” Rob sighed. He sat with Marissa on the long, dark couch across from the loveseat and lounge chair. Charles took the lounger; Bran remained on his feet. “Stubborn old man. Probably would have kept her from me until we were all dust. The only reason Geordi found out about her is because he made a surprise visit to the state.”

The girl reappeared, carrying a medium, plastic pink watering can. She drifted past the wolves and went about watering each of the plants.

“She doesn’t talk much, then.” Bran watched her. She either ignored him or didn’t notice his gaze, but he suspected the former.

“Not since Jethro’s death.” Marissa said softly. “She didn’t like interacting with the pack much before anyways. I don’t think she likes them.”

“She doesn’t like them? Or do they not like her?” Bran said softly, watching the girl carefully. Charles watched his father with an unreadable expression - to anyone else. Bran could see a frown buried in that mask of his.

Bran took two casual steps towards the girl. She stopped watering, clutching the water can as she looked at his feet. “We haven't been introduced yet.” He said clearly. “Do you know who I am?”

She looked up, meeting his eye, but hastily dropped her gaze once more as the brushing scent of her fear wafted towards him. “Jethro told me about you. Said you were the Marrok - Bran Cornick. The you are in charge of all the wolves here in North America.” She spoke softly, voice just above a whisper. “He mentioned you were older than him, and that you would look the least frightening in the room; he said to be sure I knew you were the most dangerous in the room.”

Bran smiled. Jethro had gotten paranoid. “Did he mention anything else?”

She shook her head. “Talking about you made him sad. We tried to avoid things that made him sad.” She looked back to the plants, finishing her watering as she spoke. “He didn’t like talking about werewolf stuff, at all, really.”

Bran examined her carefully. “You took care of him.” He gathered. She nodded.

Charles stood. “How much do you understand about what you are?” He asked. The girl shrugged. “Like I said, Jethro didn’t like talking about werewolf stuff, much. He only told me what he felt I really needed to know, mostly stuff to keep me from killing myself. He told me there rules and never much else.” She paused, the water running dry and the plants all watered. “Oh - I’m Meara.” She said suddenly, looking back to Bran; there was a hint of a smile in her cheeks. “Now we’re introduced.”

She set the can down on a small table by one of the windows and lightly rubbed her hands together. Marissa was watching Bran carefully, her instinct to protect the girl stronger than theirs for the time spent with her. Bran examined Meara carefully for a moment. She watched the window, hands folded together. For young as she looked, Bran could see the weight of time on her.

“How long have you been a werewolf?” He asked. She didn’t look at him. “It’d be five years in November.” She said lightly. “I’ve been living with Jethro for as long.”

“Tell me of your Change.” Bran went and sat on the loveseat, and Charles sat next to him so Meara could sit in the lounge chair. She did so hesitantly, the scent of her anxiety lightly wafting through the air.

She told them of the night of the full moon, when a wolf came crashing through the back door and with a blind rage slaughtered her mother and sister. Meara had managed to get to her young brother’s room - the boy had been ten - and hide him under the bed before she herself was attacked. She was barely alive and was inadvertently forced to listen to the sounds of her brother’s agonizing death. At least it had been quick; but Bran knew the sounds of the child’s screams would haunt her for as long as she lived.

A meal had been left on the stove, the burner set to a low simmer. When it began to burn, hours and hours had passed since the attack. The wolf left as soon as it finished. He hadn’t stayed to eat the bodies, so they burned with the rest of the house.

Somehow, Meara survived. She laid in a pool of her own blood, inches away from the carnage of her brother’s death, for hours.

“It was...dusk, I think, when the fire reached Aiden’s room. I was more lucid at that point, and I remember trying to crawl out of the room - the front door was right there, just down the hall. Moving hurt.” She didn’t look at anyone. “Even from the ground the smoke was really thick, and I could barely see as it was. The door broke open, and someone walked in - barefoot, that’s all I could see. When they picked me up the pain was so intense I passed out. By the time I woke up I was already here.”

“And it was Jethro who saved you from the house fire?” Rob asked. Meara kept her gaze firmly locked on the floor, wiping her cheeks. “He hadn’t realized I was still alive. He was only there to get rid of the evidence, and since the fire was already going he went inside to make sure it did the trick.”

And then it clicked for Bran. “Jethro was the wolf who attacked you.” He said. “He was coming back to make sure the attack was burned away to keep the secret from both the humans and the pack.”

Rob looked sharply at Bran, not meeting his eyes. “He told us you were attacked by the rogue we killed two weeks later.” He said, not looking at Meara. “You told us the same.”

“Jethro told you that. I just never said anything about the ordeal.” Meara said, voice soft. “He was scared. He didn't want to tell you the truth.”

“Old age had finally caught up to him.” Bran said with a sigh, and leaned back.

“Jethro wasn’t mad.” Rob said, almost too harsh. “I would have known. He was mine - my second.”

“He was.” Meara whispered. “He was mad before he killed my family and turned me.”

“How would we not know?” Marissa looked horrified, but she believed the girl. “The pack - we would have felt such sickness. Especially if it’s been festering for so long.”

“He was sharper than most.” Charles noted. “Extremely intelligent. And the old ones are very good at hiding things from others. When she came into the picture...she is an Omega - and we know first hand how an Omega can balm the madness of age.”

Meara brushed her thumbs together, tilting her head and looking sadly at her hands. “He was smart enough to keep away from the pack - that’s what he told me. He said that was why he turned Geordi against him. If Geordi hadn’t left to join a different pack he would have known immediately when it really took hold.”

“Christ.” Marissa murmured. “He...he’s always been so close. He was my godfather.”

Meara closed her eyes, breathing in slowly through her nose and exhaling even slower. “He loved the pack too much to tell. He knew killing him would hurt you.” She turned her head to Rob, eyes cast down and to the side to avoid meeting his gaze. Rob’s attention was now completely on her, and there was the pale light of his wolf in his eyes.

“He was our pack - he was _mine_ , my responsibility and my second. And yet you were the one to kill him.” His voice was cold and piercing. Meara didn’t seem phased by it, but Bran gave a low and sudden growl and Rob turned his attention away from the girl, cowing to the Marrok’s ire.

“What’s done is done.” Bran said. “What concerns us now is the girl and what shall be done with her.”

Marissa looked to Rob, but when he didn’t respond she spoke up. “Jethro’s home is to be passed to Geordi.” She explained. “We will gladly take her into the pack, that consensus has been reached already. And if Geordi will allow it, we would let her stay here, in the home she has known. Otherwise there is plenty room in the Alpha's home.”

“Geordi would rather see me dead than let me stay here.” Meara cut in softly. “And half the pack hates me.”

“They won’t harm you.” Charles told her. “They wouldn't be capable of it in earnest.”

“They could try. Maybe not hurt me, but they won’t accept me.” She countered. “I refuse to stay where I am hated.”

“The stupid ones stand behind Geordi, but dad can make them see.” Marissa elaborated. She was looking at Meara, almost desperately trying to convince the girl to stay. “I’m sure with a little time they'll understand and will treat you better.”

“While I do not doubt Rob is more than capable of controlling his pack, and I’m certain with time those who stand behind Geordi will see past this, I am more concerned for the girl’s lack of education. Five years a wolf, and you know nothing of our laws or world.” Bran cut in. “An Omega is too precious a gift to be left so vulnerable.”

“Are you taking her, then?” Rob piped up.

Meara finally looked up, brows pinched. She met Bran’s gaze with something like confusion in her eyes, before seeming to remember to she needed to drop her eyes.

“It would be safest.” He said, tone final. Marissa made a small whine of protest. She'd been the one who had grown closest to Meara since her existence had been revealed. She adored the girl.

“In time, depending on the situation, she would be more than welcome to return here and join the pack - or go anywhere else she so chooses.” Bran told her. “But first she must learn to be a wolf, and she must learn about being Omega. We have Anna, and we have Asil, who has taught Anna much.”

Meara looked at Marissa and Rob, looking confused and mildly distressed. “So I just...go with them?” She sounded almost despondent. “Leave?”

“You said it yourself - you can’t stay here with this pack.” Bran supplied. “And you are without the tools you need to survive. We may well be best supplied to teach you to be what you are. And you won’t be forced to stay.”

She regarded him, still frowning, examining him carefully. “You said I was an Omega. Jethro told me that I helped people.” She said. “I’m a werewolf, but I’m different, aren’t I?”

“Unique. What you can do is so much more than just helping people.” Bran corrected. “And what you are is a treasure. We would have you come only to help you. But I won’t be force you to do something against your will.”

Meara sat back with a sad smile. “Against my will.” She murmured. “It doesn’t matter what my will is. If you can help me, I’ll take it.”

* * *

Charles and Bran piloted the plane, leaving Meara to sit alone in the passenger portion of the learjet.

She’d never been in private jet before, and unfortunately it made her just as nervous as commercial flying. She gripped the armrests and breathed through her nose, not letting herself look out the window. She could think of at least two dozen ways for the plane to crash in just the first few seconds of sitting down, and she'd been in this metal tube of death for two hours now.

Montana was far. She'd lived near the sea her whole life, no matter what state they'd moved to. But Montana was not on coast. It was mountainous and forested, and while she supposed that was optimal for werewolves the notion made her homesick. The ocean had always been a part of her home.

She closed her eyes and leaned back into the seat, sighing. Montana. Maybe, a long time ago, she would have felt something different in this moment. The fear of flying would always be there, of course. But perhaps, once, she would have some sort of apprehension or fear about moving, or she would have wondered when she lost control of her life. Now, she felt...honestly, nothing. Other than a burning curiosity of who the Marrok and his son were.

Bran looked younger than Charles, and the two looked nothing alike in retrospect. Charles was all the dark and strong sharpness of the native peoples, and Bran was pale and looked like he was her age. Charles screamed power and authority, but Bran looked like he should be fixing computers or something. He didn’t look like he ruled all of North America’s werewolves with an iron fist.

The man seemed interesting. Interesting was always good, she reasoned. Interesting was best.

And just as interesting was what she was, apparently. The told her she was an Omega. Bran said that meant more than just helping people feel better. What was an Omega? Was it something was born when she was made a werewolf? Or was something she'd been before? A million questions were buzzing about this Omega business.

Meara turned her head and looked at the empty seat next to her. She wondered if being an Omega influenced the decisions she'd made in her younger years. One decision in particular, but she wrinkled her nose and closed her eyes again, unwilling to think about it.

When they finally landed, she could taste the difference in the air. Gone were the salt and sandy smells of her home and they were replaced with the scents of pine and fern. The forest here was so different from the ones on the east coast.

She had little luggage to carry. Her clothes, a few gifts from Marissa and the few pack members who were fond of her, and the few precious memoirs of her family. Mostly they were photos that were somehow untouched by the fire, her mother’s family jewelery, her sister’s favorite teacup and a quilt made from the remains of the blankets of each of their beds. Bran and Charles unloaded plane and had her take her suitcase to the red truck that was waiting by the hangar.

A man came out and smiled at them, and made some joke about a quick trip, and extra cargo, but she didn't bother listening to the rest. There was another truck parked beside the red one, and it looked like it had been quite recently run.

Meara didn't even take time to really examine it. She secured her suitcase in the truck bed and found the cab unlocked, so she crawled into the backseat and settled behind the driver’s seat, hands in her lap.

Bran and Charles appeared a few moments later, their own luggage put in with Meara’s few boxes in the truck bed and they got in.

Meara leaned her head against the glass and watched the forest drive by. Interesting, she reminded herself sadly. Interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the title. The first one just didn't flow right.  
> If anyone sees any sort of spelling errors or such, let me know please! Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

Bran put Meara in Leah’s old room.  

He’d told Anna to give the girl a day or two to settle in before she flocked to her. Though she didn’t seem so distressed, and she managed to control any sort of emotions she exuded very well, he could tell she wasn’t all that alright with all these changes occurring at once.

She’d unpacked and arranged her things rather quickly, getting herself situated in his home - to an extent. She didn’t venture out of her room much at all, and when she did she was quiet and kept her chin down.

Well. She had only _just_ arrived.

On the day after her arrival he gave her a small, plain, gold cross necklace. She looked had him with an incredibly skeptical expression, the most expressive he’d seen her yet. “I’m not christian.” She told him, holding her hand out to take it.

“Neither am I. Everyone has to wear one here.” He said plainly. “It’s not religiously motivated. A cross is a form a defense.”

She fiddled with the clasp. “Against demons and vampires, right? Jethro mentioned them.” She seemed to tack on the last part.

“Correct.” He said, and she took the cross and wore it.

When Anna finally got to meet her, she came in and introduced herself without even telling Bran she was coming. She was lucky to catch a moment when Meara had come to fetch a snack. “I’m Anna Cornick, Charles’s wife.” She said, cornering her in the kitchen.

“Meara.” They shook hands, tentatively on Meara’s part. “Nice to meet you.”

“Charles told me you’re an Omega, too.” Anna seemed to waste no time, almost excited.

Meara’s slightly nervous posture changed suddenly. She relaxed a little, smiling. “They keep telling me that. You’re an Omega, right? They’ve mentioned you.”

And the chatter began. Bran heard them from his study, Anna explaining and Meara pressing with questions. They chattered for hours and he let them be. Anna told her about the other Omega she’d met, the Austrian wolf part of the Italian pack, and of what she knew of her own capabilities. Meara went over some similarities she’d notice over the years since becoming a wolf, and of her time with Jethro.

“I couldn’t help him, in the end.” Meara said, sadly. “But he was OK up until the end.”

“We can’t always help everyone.” Anna told her. “I’ve learned that the hard way, too. But you can't blame yourself for it. Sometimes things just happen that way.”

“I know. It's just hard. He was...he ended up becoming my friend. In the end all I could do for him was help make it all stop.”

Bran glanced at the unlit fireplace. Meara had been the one to end Jethro’s life. The way Rob told it, they felt Jethro’s death in the pack, so he and the visiting Geordi went over immediately. They found Meara curled up on the floor outside Jethro’s bedroom door, soaking wet and stained in the old wolf’s blood. She'd been crying, Rob said, and she’d looked so heartbreakingly pathetic.

Jethro had been stabbed in the heart with a silver knife to disable him and drowned in the master bathtub. Meara still hadn't spoken to anyone about it, and he suspected it would be awhile before she did.

“Sometimes that's all any of us can do.” Anna said, and changed the topic.

Anna came and spent much time with her, daily. Having two omegas in his home brought a level of peace Bran was quite comfortable with. Meara still didn't speak to him much at all, but she smiled more and came out of the room a little more.

When Kara came back from visiting her father and mother, Meara had been a little surprised. “You're so young.” She'd blurted, after Kara introduced herself. “And you're a werewolf.”

The teen in the child's body smiled. “Yes. I was attacked when I was ten. It's hard, sometimes, but Bran and the pack have been good to me.”

Meara didn't seem to know what to say to that. “Sorry,” She confessed, “I'm still a little shell shocked about the ‘ten years old’ part.”

Kara laughed. She was very patient, it seemed. Perhaps it was an effect of being near an Omega. “It's ok.” She said sweetly. “I know it’s not really a normal thing.”

“I mean, it’s werewolves. When is anything normal?” Meara had said with a toothy grin, and the two got on from there.

In the span of a few days Meara drew anyone who came to Bran’s house in like sweet honey, making fast friends with the likes of Sage and Tag and Robert and anyone else. Tag managed to make the final convincing argument to get her to join the pack officially, and helped her through the process.

Omegas were made with time and age, not born - although Asil told him he suspected that the temperament one was born with swayed their path for the future. Meara was much like Anna, it seemed, and from what he knew of her life she grew up independent and quick. She was extremely level headed, very quiet and reasonable for a twenty-five year old. Bran doubted if she had been any less her, any less omega, she wouldn’t have lived with Jareth for those years after watching him ravage her family.

She’d probably be dead - it was who and what she was that saved her from the finality of Jethro’s attack.

Meara didn’t talk to him much and usually kept to her room, unless they were in his study for her lessons. (She called them ‘werewolf 101’ with a laugh, and joked about taking notes.) But she spoke to Anna and Kara whenever they were about; Kara was more comfortable being in his home now, after all the work Anna had put into him. Which was good, because Bran suspected Kara would be in his pack for a very long time.

He offered his library to her, and she took a new book every day. It turned out the girl had a ravenous appetite for knowledge. “I read all the books in my high school library before freshman year was over.” She admitted sheepishly, when he’d joked about her tearing apart his bookshelves. “It’s fun. There’s whole worlds in just a few words.”

“Not everyone is capable of being so passionate about reading.” He told her.

“Everyone is capable of different things.” She responded, smiling at him. Her words weren’t meant to be positive.

Bran sat silently after she retreated to her room after that, for a long while. His wolf stirred, surfaced by the sadness in the girl’s voice when she spoke. He sighed and the wolf retreated immediately to the makeshift and broken cage.

* * *

Meara could tell she was alone in the house.

She recalled Bran telling her something about some pack business across town. She slung her quilt over her shoulders, stepped out of her room and slinked down the hall, padding barefoot down the stairs and to the kitchen.

She made herself tea. She used to hate tea. It was never sweet enough and always just tasted like bitter water. But Jethro always drank a jasmine and youth berry blend, and she'd gotten hooked on it thanks to him. She'd brought the two jars with her to Aspen Creek and after a few weeks was already running low.

She was just stirring in sugar when she heard a soft sigh behind her and whipped around. She hadn't nosed or heard anyone come into the house, much less a big, big wolf with bright gold eyes.

He, her nose told her so, was thin and shaggy looking, and when he stared at her she could see the old age in his eyes. This wolf was old, so old it made him sick with it.

He sighed again, laying down on the hardwood floor. Her nose told her it wasn't Bran, but the scent was familiar, like it was one of the underlying ones in the house.

She hadn't been around any wolf but Jethro in this skin, and Jethro very rarely came to her as the wolf, because he knew it frightened her as well as made her sad. This wolf made her sad, but not because of bad memories. He made her sad because he was so frail, and he was so tired looking.

She set her cup down and walked carefully past him. He had his eyes closed, and his ears were still, but he followed her movement. She grabbed three pillows from the couch and returned to get her tea.

“I'm going to  the library.” She told him, holding her cup a little too tight. “Come and sit with me.” She invited him on impulse

The wolf didn't get up until she was far down the hall, past the study, and into the library. She threw the pillows on the floor, propped against the loveseat, and set her tea just on the floor. The wolf waited in the doorway while she picked a new book - she grabbed three - and watched her sit. She set a pillow under her ankles and stretched her legs out, getting comfy. She pat her legs. “Come on.” She told him.

The wolf moved slowly, walking up to her with his eyes boring into hers. She smiled gently, even when he got so close to her that his nose touched her exposed collarbone. He took a deep breath, and she gently touched his shoulder.

Something happened. When Jethro would come to her, looking old and breaking, she'd feel the same flush of power. It stirred in her belly and poured through her arm into the wolf. He gave a heavy sigh and flopped down, resting his big head on her thighs.

She'd gotten the big, slow read novels, so he could lay there for a while. And he did. She knew the wolf wasn't sleeping, but he didn't move much beside the once, where he rolled on his side and put his nose under her baggy t shirt, so it touched the skin of her belly.

That's how Bran found them, hours later when he returned. “Ah,” He said, relaxing slightly from tension she hadn't seen, “Devon.” She smiled at him when he came into the study, her book propped against the wolf’s side. She heard Kara venture up the stairs; Bran must have picked her up from school.

The big wolf sat up. She moved her book as he stood and shook himself slightly, before trotting past Bran and out of the house.

“Devon comes in without warning. I should have mentioned him sooner.” Bran told her. “He probably would have stayed there forever, but he doesn't like being here when Kara is. He's afraid of scaring her.”

Meara had stopped smiling, and was still staring at the doorway where Devon had left. “He's so tired.” She said. “Jethro got like that towards the end. He wouldn't go on hunts with the pack often, but when he did he'd come home and I’d wake up to him laying outside my door, almost shaking from effort. I told him he could come in next time, and would wake up with him struggling to sleep on top of the blankets with just a hand on my back. After the first few times he stopped changing from his wolf skin; would just bury himself under my covers and press his nose against my stomach.” She thought sadly of the last night he'd done that, limping in from no injury other than his age. She woke up and ended up crawling onto the floor to lay next to him when he flopped down, his body trembling and his eyes watering with tears.

She felt Bran’s thumb brush against her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn't felt fall. “Devon isn't as old as Jethro was. He does alright on his own, just needs the right company sometimes.” He said to her, crouching beside her. His hand lingered on the side of her face as she looked at him. “You helped more than I do usually.”

“That's good…” She said, trailing off lightly. He offered his hand to help her up, and she took it. She collected the pillows and cup and he put the two books she gave him away. “Don't be surprised if he comes to see you more often.” He told her. “When he's not in Asil’s greenhouse he's here.”

“I still haven't met Asil yet.” She said, balancing the pillows and book with one arm and holding the cup with the other. “Kara talks about him often. Maybe she can introduce me.”

Bran smiled. “She'd be more than pleased to, I'm sure.”

Meara nodded and stepped out of the library, returning things to their proper homes and retreating to her room. She looked to the back door, where Devon had left from, and felt her throat tighten. She refused to let herself cry, knowing Bran could hear.

* * *

Anna swooped in with Sage early the next day, trapping Meara in the kitchen. “We’re going shopping in Missoula.” Anna told her. “You should come and get out of this house.”

Meara blinked. “Shopping?” She hadn't done any real shopping other than grocery shopping for _years_. With Jethro she really didn't leave the house unless he was taking her hunting, so she didn't go to the mall or any real clothing store. Mostly, just scooped up a dozen shirts from the men's department at Walmart and some jeans from the women's before leaving as quickly as possible.

“We’ll get you some real clothes, darling. Start dressing you up to show off those curves.” Sage said, grinning like a cat watching a canary.

“I don't have money.” Meara said, setting down her tea. Sage scoffed. “Did we say anything about money? Come on, darling, let's have a girl’s day!”

Kara came downstairs then, with a satchel strapped across her shoulder. “Even Kara’s  coming!” Anna said.

Meara fiddled with her fingernails. “Let me check with Bran.” She said softly, before hurrying to the study door.

“You're asking my permission?” He said, sounding amused. “Even if I said ‘no’ they'd probably stuff you in the trunk. Go, have fun.” He waved a hand, and she smiled.

“Quick, get your shoes now! Do you have anything that isn't made for the men’s department?” Sage complained.

Meara hurried upstairs and found her cream cardigan and changed into a pair of dark skinny jeans and a black camisole Marissa had given her that fit tightly around her bust. She didn't have a purse or phone so she tucked on her sandals and hurried back downstairs.

Sage made a face. “Slightly better.” She led the way, whisking out of the house like it was New York Fashion week and she was the main model. Kara smiled up at Meara and took her hand, following after.

The drive to Missoula was a little longer than Meara expected, but she didn't really know the area so she figured it was either the best or closest. Southgate Mall was a pretty building and looked just like any other shopping mall she used to go to. Meara clasped her fingers together. She wished remembering stuff didn't bother her so much.

Sage pushed her into the first department store and began dropping piles of clothes over the changing room door. If there was a limit as to how many clothes you could have in the dressing room, no one dared challenge Sage on it.

“Holy shit-” Meara said, catching sight of the price tags. “Holy shit, Sage.”

“Ignore the stickers, darling.” Sage said airily, and dropped another stack of shirts over the door.

Meara came out first in something black and off the shoulder. “You've got tattoos?” Kara blurted, seeing the start of something dark and large on the exposed portion of Meara’s back. Meara flushed. “Yeah, a few. I don't like advertising them.” She pulled the shirt up a little higher, to cover the eyes.

“We should get something to show those off.” Anna said. Sage nodded eagerly in agreement. “Yes, yes. Oh, perhaps a dress.” Sage said.

“Oh jesus.” Meara murmured. She was going to regret this.

Sage bought her several blouses from that store and three bags worth of bottoms and tops from the next. And despite her protests, Anna bought her two dresses and a couple pairs of boots and flats after buying Kara what seemed like a whole new wardrobe as well.

The strength of werewolves meant they could carry all their hauls without a sweat, but Meara felt horrible. “I can't believe you'd just go and spend this much money on me.” She said. “I'll definitely pay you back.”

“They're gifts, honey. No you won't.” Sage sang, and led the charge to the food court for lunch.

They all got sandwiches, Kara and Sage enough for two people each. Anna smiled at Meara. “I've never had the appetite, either. Don't know if that's an omega thing or not, to be honest.” She told her, seeing that they got something small and less likely to feed a monster.

The women ate, littering their meal with small talk. Kara talked about school, and Anna talked about music. “What do you play?” Meara asked.

“A lot of things. I was going to school for music, before. Now I learn whatever I want.” Anna said with a shrug. “For me, the music helps me focus what I am. It makes it easier to help.”

“I sang in choir back in primary school and a little while I was still in college.” Meara noted. “And I played violin for a little while, but was never really passionate about it. I like singing, though. Maybe it’ll help me focus - I should try practicing again.”

“Bran used to be a bard, a long time ago. He has a beautiful voice.” Anna said. “He could probably help you.”

“Oh, geez.” Meara laughed, feeling suddenly nervous. “I barely manage singing solo around strangers who I would never see again. I’d die of embarrassment before I even got out two notes if I sang in front of Bran.”

Sage smiled. “Oh, would you? Hold our dear overlord in high regard, then?” She purred, prodding for something she probably shouldn’t be.

Meara crumpled her napkin and dropped it on her empty plate. “I just get embarrassed easily. He’s been taking care of me.” She said, dully - almost a skirt around the question. “I dunno. He seems like someone I’d hate to disappoint.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Kara muttered, mercilessly tearing her second sandwich in half.

“Bran’s not all that scary.” Anna said, and Sage laughed. “Yes. You should hear our Anna here ripping into him like she was the alpha here. It’s a sight to see, for certain.”

“I just remind him he’s not all that and a bag of chips.” Anna said defensively.

Meara stretched. “I believe it. You remind me of my mother. She once scared a cop shitless with her mom-voice. I still can’t quite get it right.” She said fondly, and swallowed thickly when the sadness stirred in her.

Anna was quick to change the topic, bringing it back to smaller things like nails and shoes. They decided to get their nails and hair done, Meara opting out of the haircut and fighting Sage on styling. “I don’t like other people touching my hair.” She told her, scowling. “I just don’t. It’s my hair and they always make it look wrong.”

“I know the right girl.” Sage replied cooly. “Baby soft hair just like yours. She’ll style it right, no cutting involved.”

“No way.” Meara shook her head. “I don’t even want to get my nails done.”

“You’re _getting_ your nails done.” Sage snapped. “They’re atrocious. I can see all five years of cuticle build up there. And she will style your hair and you’ll look fabulous.”

Sage ended up winning the argument, taking them to a shop that gave full on makeovers. Meara ended up with her hair curled down her back and her nails - long, she never really cut them - filed to rounded-square tips and painted them a rich, deep blue that glittered with holographic particles.

Meara was done before anyone else. “I’m going to wait outside.” She told Sage, as a young woman with bright red eyeshadow massaged rosemary smelling soap into Sage’s scalp. “The hairspray makes my head hurt.”

“We’ll track you down when we’re all done here.” Sage replied smoothly, not opening her eyes. She reached into her purse and handed Meara a small coin purse. “Take the cash just in case, give it back if you don’t use it.”

Meara sighed and stuffed it into her back pocket. She scooped up her bags and hurried back out into the mall, leaving Anna mid-pedicure and Kara with her head under the slow-blow dryer.

The mall wasn’t too quiet, but it was sort of...relaxing, being able to walk around alone. Even if she toted about a dozen or more shopping bags. It reminded her of the old days when she would go out, seeing the normal people with their normal lives stream around her.

She got a milkshake and sat at one of the empty “dad” zones. For a second, she almost missed having a phone. Texting was always very convenient for her and she liked being able to check up on the world at large. But instead, she sat and watched the people as they went about their lives. She listened to some conversations, the gift of werewolf hearing making it easier for her to be nosy. Most conversations seemed typical, seemed normal. She missed normal, sometimes.

But normal was boring.   
“Don’t tell me-” the boy who sat on the armrest of her seat couldn’t be more than seventeen, with a bright smile and dark brown eyes, “-that someone would actually leave a pretty girl like you to sit all alone like this.”

His friends took the other chairs, three of them, smelling and looking his age. She needed to use her nose more often, Bran told her, so she took a deep breath when she smiled faintly at him - polite, habitual smile. Young, excited boys, and smelling of confidence, she thought.

“Maybe the pretty girl sat herself here, to get some peace.” She said. “And then the peace was ruined.”

“Alex does that a lot.” Said another boy, with hazel eyes that she found she quite liked. “Peace and quiet don’t exist in the same reality that he does.”

“Sure they do, I just liven the place up a bit first.” Alex protested, weakly.

“You don’t sound local. Southern.” Another friend said, with dark skin and a shaved head. He was the one who smelled like motor oil. “Maybe South Carolina?”

“Florida, really. But my momma was Georgian and we stayed there a little while.” She said, shrugging.

“My mom’s from Alabama. Probably would have stayed there, instead of moving all the way out here, but her neighbor sort of got attacked by Klan.” He told her earnestly. It seemed an odd thing to say within minutes of meeting a girl, but Meara remembered something Anna said. Some people felt comfortable enough around Omegas to tell them everything, and it wasn’t just wolves that felt that way.

“Holy shit, Gaven, she doesn’t want to know about the racists running your mom out of town.” Alex hissed. “She probably would be more interested in listening to you brag about your dad’s cars.”

“She looks interested in a lot of things.” Gaven protested.

“She’s still sitting right here.” Meara pointed to herself, looking to them with a bemused expression.

“They kind of get stupid when they try to flirt. It’s harder, when the girl is really pretty.” The third friend spoke, and she could almost taste the cigarette smoke on his scent. “So let me give them a hand; I’m Aaron, that’s Alex, that’s Gaven, and this is Brandon.” Brandon had the pretty hazel eyes. Meara found her smile a little less forceful politeness, and a little more relaxed.

Alex stood and bowed with a flourish. “At your service. Does the pretty lady have a name?” He flashed a grin.

Meara leaned back, considering. “Meara.” She said at last. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“Well, Meara from Florida and some time in Georgia.” Aaron sounded like he did drama club. Meara got the feeling they were all still in high school. “Are you really just sitting here for peace and quiet? Or did your friends abandon you for a little while to do things you weren’t interested in?”

She snorted. “Clever. A little bit of both.” She said. “And yourself? You lot on the prowl for lonely girls?”

“We honestly came to get Alex a stupid video game. Couldn’t help it when we saw you.” Brandon confessed.

“Flirting with me out of pity, then?” She found herself purring.

Brandon looked momentarily distressed. “Oh shit - no, not that - oh fuck, I’m not the best with words-”

Alex laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Brandon here gets flustered easily, you shouldn’t tease the poor boy.” He told her. “What he meant to say was, you looked so pretty he couldn’t help but pester us to come see you.”

Brandon hissed something that Meara wasn’t supposed to hear. “Asshole.” He called Alex.

“And we couldn’t help but want your attention too.” Gaven said, surprisingly honest. Meara found herself tensing suddenly, unsure of what to say to that. She flirted on impulse, because flirting was easy enough with sarcasm and wit, but she’d had something like _this_ before.

“Since you’re not from around here, we could show you the town. Missoula’s not, like, Miami or those big Florida cities, but there’s some great stuff to do around here.” Aaron smiled, and she wondered if he knew how unattractive smoking was; the smell of it wasn’t as strong as someone who smoked in public, so she wondered if he smoke in private, away from friends and family. Suddenly she registered what he said.

“Oh, I think I might be a little too old for you all.” She laughed, nervously. “I’m not in high school.”

“If you don’t mind we don’t mind.” They agreed with Alex’s statement, it seemed. “Poor Brandon here getting his heart broken by an older woman, that’s a sight.” Gaven muttered,

“Still, it couldn’t be too bad to get to know the area? You probably know it’s better to get advice from locals than tourist catalogues.”

“I’m staying with locals, so I’ve got it covered - unfortunately for you.” She said, smiling sadly. “They’re probably looking for me by now.”

Alex stood and snatched a piece of blank paper from the kiosk next to them and scribbled with their pen. “Here, at least take poor Branden’s number.” He said, and with a wink flipped the paper over. “And maybe mine too.”

Aaron snatched the paper before he could give it to her and wrote his number down, and then Gaven wrote his in sloppy numbers too. They made their retreat - always leave after giving the number, someone told her once. Branden with the pretty hazel eyes kissed her hand, “Sorry about them.” He whispered with a wink, before turning and jogging after his friends. “Don’t be afraid to call me if you ever had questions about Missoula!”

She stared after them for a moment. That had been a brief but new experience, having boys rapid-fire flirt at her. She heard Kara call her name across the mall, and with one last thought to those hazel eyes, stuffed the paper in her pocket and hurried back to her companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates should be weekly. Again, any errors you spot, let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

“Next time I see you, it better be in those nice new clothes.” Sage told Meara and Kara both, winking before she drove away to drop off Anna. Kara helped Meara tote inside her bags and they dropped them off upstairs.

“I haven't been shopping in years.” Meara said, starting them tea. “I guess it's fun.”

“It's better than staying shut in here all day.” Kara taunted. “At least I get to go to school. You just read books and sit all day.”

“I come out from time to time.” Meara said absently. “I just...I like the familiar space. I like being comfortable.”

“You’re _un_ -comfortable with being here, you mean.” Kara said, dropping more sugar into her cup. “It’s OK. I was too. But pack is like...family, and they help you feel better about it, even if you don’t talk to them much.”

Meara looked at Kara, almost frowning. She only looks ten, Meara reminded herself. She was in high school, now. Meara recalled being Kara’s age. She didn’t like that age much. Too much had happened.

“I see you’ve returned in one piece.” Bran joked, joining them in the kitchen. Kara flashed her rosey red nails, smiling. “Sage treated us both. Meara had more fun than she likes to say she did.” She said, blowing on her tea. “She got some boy’s numbers.”

Meara gave Kara a sharp look, and Kara waved the crumpled slip of paper that Meara had forgotten was in her pocket. “Four whole boys - Sage said she was impressed.”

“You spied on me - why am I not surprised?” Meara rolled her eyes. “They were just some kids. Babies from high school at least. Thought a girl sitting all alone was an easy target.”

Bran opened his mouth, but Kara fired first. “You were flirting, it was hilarious.” She told Meara. “Shooting them down but flirting.”

“I wasn’t deliberately flirting -” Meara said this to Bran, defensively, “It’s just - I talk like that. I don’t flirt to flirt, it just happens, I swear.” She looked a little desperate, as if she was afraid he’d disapprove.

“I didn’t say anything.” Bran told her. Her expressed shifted and she gave him something that seemed like disbelief.

“The one kissed your hand.” Kara was telling on her, like a spoiled little sister. Meara gave her a sidelong glare, but shrugged and smiled lightly. “I liked his eyes; they were pretty.”

Bran was surprised. Not by how relaxed the girls were while including him in this conversation, not something you would normally include a man, much less your alpha. No, it was by the sudden, violent, predatory urge that rose in him when Meara said she liked the one boy’s eyes. The urge was quick and easily controlled, and the thoughts flew by like racecars - _mine, mine, she is mine_ \- but it surprised him.

Meara was pack. She was his pack, and while unmated females - even Omegas - belonged to the alpha, she wasn’t truly _his_. She was not his mate. For as long as he could manage he wouldn’t have another till the day he died.

“Bran?”

Meara was touching his arm. She sensed it, the wave of violence that had rocked through him, and though she didn’t quite understand how to do it yet she was soothing him, mildly, with her touch. Kara was watching, standing a few feet farther than she’d been moments ago. She was afraid, something he didn’t like because he didn’t like scaring her - but Meara was not.

That was stupid. He would have to teach her better.

“Worrisome little thing.” He said, patting Meara’s hand and setting it off his arm. “I’m fine. Thought of something for a moment.” Not a lie, but she looked like she didn’t believe him.

Kara was still watching him, so he took a step back. “I’ve got some business to deal with across town and will be back late.” He told them. “Checking on someone.”

Kara sighed, relaxing at last. “OK.” She said.

“If we make anything, do you want us to save you some?” Meara asked. He shook his head. “I’ll be stopping by Charles and Annas’ on my way back. She’ll be already making something to shove down my throat.”

Meara laughed, and Bran felt himself lighten a little.

He left them, and when dinner came Meara made the pair of them something light to eat and they ended up baking cookies. Devon came and sat on the back porch, eyes closed and nose away from the door. Meara went to take him a few cookies. Kara watched her from the fridge.

“You’re not scared of him.” Meara said, hand on the door.

Kara shook her head. “He told Asil, I smell like his daughter. I don’t like reminding him of her. It makes him sad.” She admitted, though she’d never said that out loud to anyone really before. Meara nodded. “I understand.” She smiled, and took the cookies to Devon.

He didn’t move besides his tail thumping a few times on the hard wood of the porch. “If it helps you,” she told him, running her hand through his fur once, “I’ll leave my bedroom door open. If you need, you can come in and see me even if it wakes me up.” She wanted to help this one. This one wasn’t Jethro.

He didn’t respond in any way, so she went back inside and helped Kara clean up after dinner. Kara went to bed earlier than she did; Meara watched a movie on Bran’s nice television and relaxed on the couch.

Devon came in after some time. She didn’t really know how he turned the door knobs yet. He trotted up and settled on the floor against the couch. She laid herself across the cushions and let her hands fall into his fur, feeling the familiar tingle of cool and calm flow from her fingertips.

When she fell asleep, Devon stood and gently set one of Bran’s woven blankets over her. He tapped the remote with his nose, hitting the power, and settled back on the floor so her hand touched his back once more.

* * *

Bran came in quietly that night. He looked at Devon and Devon kept his eyes down, but made no move. Bran sighed. “A treasure.” He said to Devon, taking off his shoes and strolling to the couch. “You like her more than Anna. Is it because she’s unmated?”

Devon turned his nose towards his alpha and sighed. “Charles doesn’t like sharing, I’m sure.” Bran sounded amused. “And Meara isn’t afraid of old and dominant like Anna is. She’s perfect to help you, then.”

Bran stepped around the couch and stepped closer to Meara, and Devon stood. “Would you rather I let her sleep here, or are you going to carry her to bed?” Bran was both amused and pleased by the action. Devon was going to protect the Omega, even from his own alpha, even from the Marrok. It helped keep the old and fragile pieces together.

Devon stepped aside. Meara slept soundly, even when he slid his hands under her and scooped her into his arms. He cradled her like a child and she just sighed, resting her head in the nook of his shoulder and pulled her hand up settled it across his other shoulder. Her touch made his skin tingle.

Devon bumped against his leg as Bran carried her up the stairs and into her room, and the wolf carefully used his jaw to peel back the covers so Bran could tuck her in. Bran set the sheets over her and Devon hopped on the bed.

Bran looked at him. Devon stepped quite deliberately so he never touched the quilt folded at the foot of the bed and positioned himself between Meara and the door. _Really_ , Bran said to him without speaking, _you think she’ll mind waking up to a big furry beast in her bed?_

Devon sighed and rested his head against her legs. Ah, Bran gathered. Meara had mentioned letting Jethro crawl into bed when she slept to soothe himself with her presence. It didn’t surprise him to think she extended the invitation to Devon.

Was it jealousy he felt? He laughed at himself and left the door cracked. Devon watched him leave before closing his eyes again.

* * *

Devon crawled into bed with Meara every few days. She never really said anything about it, would just wake up, lay with him a few minutes longer, and then kick him out so she could take a shower.

“You obviously really help him.” Kara told her one day. “He was able to be in the same room as me yesterday. A whole few minutes.”

“I still don’t know how I do this.” Meara confessed. “Anna doesn’t really either. It’s weird.”

“I don’t think anyone knows why or how.” Kara told her. “I’ve been there when Asil and Anna have talked about it. Omegas are a mystery.”

Mear wrinkled her nose a Kara. “Curiouser and curiouser,” she teased, “I’m a curious curiousity.”

Kara rolled her eyes - she didn’t see the expression the crossed Meara’s face when she turned away.

Meara sought Bran out, sometime after her conversation with Kara. “How many Omegas have you come across?” She asked him, leaning over the side of the couch while he watched some news report.

“A few.” He answered, lowering the television volume. “Mostly in passing.”

“Do they all do the same thing? Bring peace and all that stuff?” She tilted her head.

He gave her an expression mixed between amusement and thought. “Omegas all bring a level of peace to those around you. Most usually people of all species feel most comfortable around you; even powerful fae have spilled their stories into Anna’s lap.” He explained. “But every Omega is different. Not stronger or weaker I suppose; differently abled.”

“We each have our own unique talents.” Meara concluded. She was looking down at her hands with a thoughtful frown. Then she made her way around the side of the couch and flopped down next to him. “This is all sounds so - I don’t know, it’s not that I don’t believe what you guys are all telling me. It’s just…”

“Not everything is easy to process at first.” He provided. She nodded, leaning back and giving the ceiling a confused look. “I guess that’s it. I wasn’t like this before, is the thing. This magnet that people were drawn to because I’m just oh-so great to be around. Before everything happened, it’s not like I had very many friends. I actually lost a huge majority of friends my last year of high because everyone just disliked my personality so much. People thought I wasn’t nice to be around because I was mean and obnoxious. A lot of people called me a know it all.”

There were other reasons people didn’t like to be around her as well at that time, but that was for another conversation and another time. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, sounding distant. He forced himself not to frown at the sense of sadness and disappointment she gave. “I mean, at work people would gab. Of course I was being nice, it was customer service and I needed to keep my job. But outside of my mom’s friends and my own friends, people really didn’t like me. They didn’t like being around me because they thought I was mean and uncouth. And now, all of a sudden I’ve got people like Devon who _need_ to be around me. It’s...I can shake how unreal everything feels.”

She sounded upset. He disliked that. He put a hand on her knee. She shifted, angling so she was looking at him and propping that knee closer. “I didn’t know about the werewolves before I was changed into one. And staying with Jethro basically shut me off from the world. I used to wonder if it was like - not hell, some form of limbo.” She laughed; it was a sad laugh. “I got over that quickly.”

And something about that pained Bran. Here was this girl, barely a woman when her life was completely changed. She was probably as average as she could manage in her younger years, living with her mother and brother and sister while she attended school, worked, lived like everyone else. Then a monster tore down the walls of her life and killed everyone she loved. And she lived with that monster for five years, taking care of him.

She was living, and she was careful with every step she took in life, but she still felt lost.

“What you are wasn’t something you were born into. Your identity is partly heritage, partly upbringing, but mostly the choices you made in life. Just as a man makes himself into an Alpha so does an Omega; it's not an accident of birth.” He told her. “The path you chose to take is what shaped you into what you are. Perhaps when you were younger the magic wasn’t as strong, because you were still growing and becoming something. But it was there before Jethro changed you - otherwise he would have been able to kill you all the way.”

She looked at him with an unreadable expression. Her eyes were much older than the rest of her. They looked like they belonged to someone who had seen the ages pass by. “You’ve said that before.” She said softly. “You tell me I made me the way I am. But I don’t feel like I made choices that would lead me to me being this special thing. I never felt special - if the lot of you were constantly reminding me I wouldn’t feel any sort of special as it is now.” It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, but her disbelief in herself was stronger. That bothered him more than anything, because he’d seen many die for such feelings.

“You are. You may not feel it, but you are.” He told her firmly. “And perhaps that is part of what makes you what you are. It doesn’t have to make sense at the moment. You have time to learn about yourself and understand what you are. It doesn’t have to happen all at once.”

She smiled at him finally, and it felt like a slight weight off his shoulders when she didn. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” She mumbled. “Sorry - I just started dumping on you.”

He pat her knee. “It’s good you feel comfortable enough to talk to me.”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, just above his jaw. “Thanks.” She said, and she got up and escaped up the stairs. Bran’s cheek tingled as he watched her go, and something occurred to him - a thought he stamped out before it saw the light of day.

* * *

And then, the full moon came. Meara had felt it coming, like all the wolves had. She’d never been hunting on a full moon before - Jethro didn’t like doing it too often, and if he did it was with the pack where it was safest. There had been two since she’d come to Aspen Creek; one just a few days after she arrived, and one more last month. She didn’t go on either, though the invitation had been extended.

This time, she went.

She was nervous about it, as she’d never hunted with a group before. Much less hunted. “Rabbits and armadillos, mostly.” She told Bran. “Florida doesn’t have a lot of big game.”

“We’ll be hunting elk. There’s a large herd taking up for the summer in the area; but there’s always going to be plenty of rabbit and squirrel. You don’t have to hunt the big game.” He told her, reassuring. “Plenty don’t. No need to be concerned.”

She was still concerned, not because of the hunt or because of anything really tangible. She was just _nervous_. The anticipation was always the part that made her afraid.

When it came time, she rode to out to the woods with Kara in Bran car. She was nervous - thinking about getting lost, about the pain that came from changing, about being naked in front of the pack and _Bran_ -

“Stop overthinking it.” Bran told her, tone sharp. “You’ll just end up scaring yourself out of it.”

Kara had a teasing smile in the backseat. “Want me to hold your hand?” She told Meara. “I know it’s scary, but I’m sure you can be brave.”

“Brat.” Meara swatted at her, smiling. But she was still nervous.

When they parked, in a clearing of trees with several other cars, Bran left the girls to change in the privacy behind the car. Kara snickered when she saw more of Meara’s tattoos before the pain of the change smothered the taunting.

Meara was never very good with pain. The stretching and warping of skin and the sting of flesh sprouting fur sucked, but what burned the most was the breaking, cracking joints, as they took new form and contorted themselves to what suited the shape most. It felt like forever when it was done, but in reality about 15 minutes had passed. Kara had finished a few minutes before, watching patiently.

The girls came around the cars and joined several other wolves who sat in wait. Meara’s nose told her a few; Tag, Sage, Anna and Charles, mixed in with the other pack members she didn’t recognize. Bran sat at the front of everyone, surprising her. She'd expect the Alpha of all Alphas to be big and brawny, like Charles. But Bran sat small enough to be mistaken for a large German Shepherd, colored medium gray and his tail dipped in white. He looked beautiful, she thought. Holy shit.

He looked at her and she shook herself with a wolfish grin. Then she realized they were all looking at her, for she'd never been in wolf in front of them before. The thought made her feel slightly self conscious, so she sat beside Tag and Kara and tried not to sink too low into the ground.

* * *

Bran found himself watching as Meara trotted to sit beside Tag, Kara beside her. She was fairly small for a wolf, but her legs were long and lean, and her body was streamline like she was meant for running. Her coat was doberman blue with each paw dipped in black, and on her back there was a strange black pattern. It looked like someone had printed one of those psychology ink blots on her back, just between her front shoulders.

She was unusual and beautiful as a wolf. They were all watching her, and when she caught him watching she shook herself and grinned, her eyes pale silver. Anna sneezed, giving a wheeze of a laugh. He cast her a glare.

The rest of the pack that would be hunting tonight filed in, and when everyone was there, Bran stood, and led the way. The shivers of excitement trickled through the pack bonds when they caught the scent of the elk herd.

* * *

Meara had felt the magic of the pack bonds when she’d first joined, and every once in awhile there would be a shiver of power. But now, she was felt the force of it, the excitement and thrill of the hunt pouring from everyone else into her. She almost stumbled. She wasn’t used to it.

The sensation and emotions were followed by a wave of whispers, but that she was able to deal with better.

She strayed in the rear of the pack, with a few other wolves who didn’t seem to set on hunting elk like the rest. She honestly didn’t feel like hunting much at all, not even when a few rabbits darted through the shrubbery to the side; a few others beside her went for them.

She just wanted to run. The feel the summer air fill her as she loped through the forest, to smell the fir and cedar and pine. She loved the dirt under her feet, the way her claws dug into it just enough to let her spring forward with every step.

At some point she spotted Bran, at the front of the pack, leading the hunt. And she felt the urge to run beside him - she wanted to run with him and feel the freedom of being with him out here, in the light of the full moon.

She dashed the notion, shaking her head with a sneeze. That would be inappropriate, she chastised herself.

Kara ran up beside her and past, her half-grown size making her work harder to beat Meara’s pace. Meara inwardly grinned when Kara glanced back at her. A race would be in her favor - Meara’s legs were much longer, and her body was more streamline.

She raced her anyways, sprinting to catch up with Kara. The two battled to keep ahead, veering off from the pack and racing through the woods like wild wolves would.

It was Meara who stumbled, earning Kara the victory. Had she been human, Meara would have been laughing. As a wolf, she yipped and shook herself, flopping down beside Kara happily.

They heard the howls when the pack cornered an elk - two elks, two different groups. Meara stretched her legs lazily, rather unwilling to go join the hunt. Kara nipped at her feet, and Meara growled, but stood and loped after her.

They arrived in time to watch Anna, in all her dark, glorious beauty, leap onto the elk buck’s back and rip into the back of its neck. Meara recalled Anna saying she didn’t hunt big game with the rest of the pack, but there she was; Charles watched proudly. He and Bran and Tag seemed to be keeping the elk from bolting, snapping at its ankles whenever it made to break free from their formation.

Sage went in as soon as Anna was free, slamming into the buck’s broad side and bashing it into the ground. It swung its antlers - this one wouldn’t go down without a fight, obviously. Sage dove to avoid it’s sharp tines and Anna slammed into it once more, snapping the buck’s neck in one fell swoop.

The group sang their song of victory, and Meara and Kara couldn’t help but join in. The hunt didn’t excite her like it did the other wolves, but Meara found herself sharing in the thrill the rest of them felt. Anna especially, felt proud and excited. Her first big game kill. Kara bounced over excitedly as Charles tapped his nose to the side of Anna’s face affectionately.

Meara almost felt embarrassed watching. It didn’t look like much, but there was such _intimacy_ in such a small gesture on Charles’s part she felt like she was spying. Meara scratched behind her ear and turned away, feeling unusually warm in her fur.

When the hunt was said and over, Meara found herself trotting back to the rest of the pack beside Bran - whether she did that or he did, she didn’t know. While she was just barely came to his nose in human skin, she was just larger than he was as a wolf; her body was longer, too, slinky and streamline looking.

He turned and caught her gaze and she bounced two steps ahead of him. He gave a snort of a laugh and she snickered.

When they were home, Meara dreamed of golden eyes and strong arms carrying her like a princess.


	5. Chapter 5

When Meara woke, she saw it was barely two in the morning. 

She frowned, rubbing her eyes. She didn’t quite remember what she was dreaming about, but she did remember screams and feeling her claws digging into something soft and warm…

She shook her head. Why would she dream about that? It was days after the hunt, and the moon would soon be dark as a new moon.

The house smelled like Bran as always, but she smelled like...it was tangy, and reminded her of distress. It made her uncomfortable and reminded her of the time her brother got scared from a hurricane that had brushed by them. 

Her wolf stirred.

She stood and opened her door. Her feet - her wolf’s instincts - took her to Bran’s room, and she opened the door without knocking. 

Bran was perfectly asleep, but despite how still he was, his brows were pinched and there was a sheen of sweat over his exposed chest; his breathing was quicker and his fists were clenched. She didn’t realize she’d crawled into his bed until she was laying curled up on her side as far as she could get from him, back half off the edge of the bed. 

She could taste his distress, see and feel the mixture of panic and fear. It was because of a bad dream - she remembered the flashes of people, screaming and running, and she wondered if he was dreaming something like that. Whatever it was, it was hurting him. 

She reached out, and let her hand ever so softly touch his arm. The cool feeling she’d felt when she’d helped Devon returned. It trickled through her like a rush cool, refreshing water. It ran through her and into him, and the distress faded. Bran relaxed, his breathing slowed, and his fists unclenched. 

His eyes opened, pale gold with his wolf. He looked at her and she forced herself not to retract her hand the sudden movement. “Sorry.” She whispered. “You were hurting. I couldn’t help it.” 

He didn’t say anything, and she slowly withdrew her hand and slipped off the bed, standing with her hands folded in front of her. He sat up, sighing. “Don’t apologize for your instincts.” He said, his eyes returning to the warm hazel she was more comfortable with, rubbing his face. “I suppose you have my thanks. Never fun, waking up from those normally.” 

She hesitated, before rubbing her thumbs together nervously. “You were having a bad dream, right? Of some sort of past.” She spoke very softly, just above a whisper. “There were people, and they were dying.” 

Bran regarded her curiously. “You saw?” 

“I dreamed. It woke me up.” She admitted. “I don’t think it was my dream.” 

Bran crossed his legs, rubbing his jaw. Omegas were gifts full of rare and powerful magic, but sharing dreams was a different kind of power. She was tied with pack magic, and that perhaps could account for such a connection - but Bran doubted that. 

“Go back to bed.” He told her softly. “Sleep.”

She slipped from the room without another word. Bran sighed and laid back. This new omega was a wonder of mystery.

* * *

When morning came, it brought a phone call from Everett, the alpha of the Houston pack. 

“Trouble.” Everett told him, as soon as he answered. “My pack is falling apart at the seams. My third is dead and I’m close to having a mutiny on my hands.” 

Bran sat back in his study chair, pinching his brow. “Elaborate.” 

“One of my pack, Nicholas, changed a witch.” Everett said. “His wife’s sister; the witch we had in our pay.” 

“He changed a black witch?” The notion was madness in itself, and Bran knew Everett’s Nicholas enough to know he wasn’t mad.

“She’s a white witch. Her sister gifted her power to her when she died, so she’s strong enough that I prefer hiring her to the local black witch.”

White was better than black, but a witch the same was troubling. 

“He changed her without permission, and without her consent - almost a month ago.” Everett continued. “And when I told him what had to be done with her, he refused. My third, Hank, tried to do it for him, so Nicholas killed him to protect the witch. I don’t want to risk sending my second to take care of him and half the pack would rebel if I killed him and the witch myself. They’re torn over the decision. Some think she needs to be killed immediately, and others believe she should be spared; that she is a victim in this.” 

“So you bring the problem to me.” Bran leaned back. Always something. “Bring your Nicholas and his witch here; you come, as well.” He hung up from there, and looked to the unlit fireplace. 

A witch. When Asil’s witch had come, and he’d felt that fear of possibility of her being a werewolf, he had for certain thought that a witch-made-wolf would be the end of them all. Now he had it for real before him. An abomination. 

* * *

Charles came over almost immediately after his father called. 

He’d received a partial explanation; a witch made wolf, but against her will and done so by a member of the Houston Alpha’s pack. It was unheard of. Witches weren’t made wolves, because there were witch laws concerning their interaction with other creatures. And there were laws for the wolves, too. 

Meara was in the kitchen when he came in. She waved at him as he passed, but didn’t comment or seem too interested in his arrival. Bran was in his study, sitting in his chair, watching a low fire stoke in the fireplace. 

Well. At least he wasn’t sitting on the floor in front of it. 

“Everett will be bringing them here. They’ll be arriving in two days.” Bran told him, when he closed the door. “The witch and the wolf who made her.”

“Nicholas.” Charles confirmed. “What happens to him is obvious. But you’re concerned about the witch.”    
“A white witch, but still a witch.” Bran said, absently. He was thinking. Hard. “She was changed against her will. Hasn’t been a wolf even a full year. Some in Everett’s pack feel it is unjust to kill her for just being a witch.” 

Charles frowned. “The witches will kill her if they get their hands on her anyways. What she is violates their laws.” He said, something Bran already knew. “What do they want? For you to shelter her from the witches when they find out?”

“If.” Bran murmured. 

Charles didn’t say anything about the if. He watched his father carefully. “This troubles you more than it should.” He said carefully.

Bran nodded. “Bad dreams. Bad feeling.” He said shortly. “Bad about killing her, bad about letting her live.”

Charles stood still. The spirits were more quiet in his father’s study, almost as quiet as they would be if Charles shut himself in his computer room. “If she lives, she could potentially be useful.”

“And she could potentially be more dangerous than a regular witch. And what if she manipulated Nicholas into changing her on purpose?” Bran shook his head. “Too many what ifs. I need them here so I can have the truth from them.”

Charles nodded. “Just tell me what you need from me.” He said, and Bran sighed. “To be on your wits.” Was all he said. Charles left the study. Meara wasn't in the kitchen anymore.

* * *

Meara could tell Bran was on edge.

He seemed relaxed as usual. Not a lick of tension in his body whenever she saw him, and when she tested the pack bonds to check on him she felt nothing out of the usual.

But she knew. She could feel the tension in her belly, as if it mirrored his whenever she was near. After his conversation with Charles yesterday, he ate dinner alone and skipped breakfast and lunch today. Not eating scared her more than him being upset, because not eating, in her experience, was a sign of something festering where it shouldn’t. She knew it wasn’t that - her  _ wolf _ knew it wasn’t that, and she assured the human half that the end she was fearing was not nigh. But it still disturbed her. 

It was apparently obvious she was bothered, because as soon as she peeked her head into his study he told her he was fine. 

“Is this about the alpha that's coming tomorrow morning?” She asked, leaning in the doorway with her arms wrapped around herself. The whole pack was made aware that the Houston alpha had business with the Marrok. Part of that business was one of his wolves and that someone being changed, but that was all the pack knew at the moment.

“It is.” He told her as he busied himself over his computer.

“It's bad enough that you're really bothered by it.” She said, unable to let the topic wait. It was distressing her, seeing that ghost of tension leaning on him. It didn’t remind her of Jethro; it reminded her of her mother, when the woman would let things stress her so hard it made her sick. 

Bran sat back, looking at her with an unreadable expression. “Am I?” His tone revealed nothing, only a curiosity.

“I could smell the fireplace going all day yesterday and before. Anna said you only light it when you're really bothered by something.” She told him, rubbing her arm. “And you just...you just seem off. I don't quite want to say distressed. Just on edge. Anna sees it too.”

Anna knew what was going on, because Charles told her. Meara did not - and Bran did not want to treat her any more special than he was just because she was an Omega. She was still pack, and not one like Charles or Anna. “I am concerned over the matter.” He said, after a long pause. Then he gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs across from his desk. “Do you know much about witches?”

Meara made a face. “I know real witches are born the way they are. Wiccans aren't witches. And most witches that are strong use black magic.” She said. “Anna told me about a witch that attacked the pack when she first came here.”

He nodded. “Witches are generally the worst type of creature you can come across. Their power is fueled by suffering and pain - almost never their own. They are selfish and jealous creatures and they bring death and torment wherever they go. There are white witches, whose power is the power they have and they do not sacrifice to power it. But they are next to useless.”

Meara regarded him carefully for a moment. It clicked, and she grimaced. “The new wolf Everett is bringing. She's a witch. I'm assuming there's never been a witch-wolf before.” She said.

“A white witch. But still a witch.” He nodded. “I must decide what to do with her.”

Meara leaned back. She was still watching him. “You've had bad experience with witches before.”

“Enough to sour my taste for them.” He said with an air of finality, telling her he'd say no more on the matter.

She stood. “Don't stress yourself sick.” She told him, hands on her hips. “Eat. If you skip another meal I’ll blend it up and pour it down your throat.” That was unusually bold of her, outright ordering him around like that. It meant she was more comfortable with him; or she was more worried than he’d originally gauged. 

It was amusing all the same. “How frightening a prospect.” he told her. She wrinkled her nose at him before her expression softened and she retreated, the scent of her distress trailing after her. That bothered him more than this business with the witch. It soured his already poor mood. 

He leaned back and rubbed his face, looking to the ceiling. Too much to worry about at once. 

Meara went up to her room and pressed herself against her family quilt, trying not to cry. She was scared of something, but she didn’t know what. 

* * *

When Everett arrived, Bran and Charles met him on the airstrip. 

“I wish I could be visiting on better terms.” Everett said, handing Bran a wrapped bundle. It smelled like sugar and bread. “Conchas. My wife insisted I bring you a loaf.” 

Bran took the gift. “Nicholas and the witch wolf will be staying in the motel. We trust he won’t try to run.” Charles explained. Bran glanced behind Everett. Nicholas was helping his witch off the plane; Nicholas was a stocky man with dark skin, borne of his aboriginal mother and white convict father sent to the first penal colony in Australia. He was older than Charles, meaning he was old enough to know better. 

The witch was more frail than Anna looked when she first came here. She was reed thin and trembling with every step, her skin nearly as pale as snow. Her stark black hair hung limp in a braid over her shoulder, and the ill-fitting sweatshirt and jeans did little to hide how not right she looked. She squeezed Nicholas’s hand too hard and her were wide and alert - fear, most of all. 

She was terrified. When her pale, bright yellow eyes darted up, her wolf retreat at the mere sight of them. A terrified submissive, both Bran and Charles’s instincts told them.

“He won’t. She’s too frightened to do anything but what we tell her, and he won’t leave her.” Everett said shortly. “I’d like to stay with them. It keeps her from panicking when I’m near.” 

“You haven’t made her pack, have you?” Charles frowned at Everett. The alpha kept his eyes down, wisely. “No. But she is scared of what she doesn’t know. And she obeys me - it helps.” 

Bran still hadn’t spoken. He watched the witch with an unreadable expression. Her terror was real, and her need to cling to someone stronger was real. Her wolf seemed smart enough to keep her eyes down and her feet still, but her body vibrated with the need to hide and run. It annoyed him. 

Everett was given a car to follow behind Bran and Charles. Neither wanted to be in a car with the witch, and Bran trusted Everett plenty. They went to the motel and Nicholas went to room one with his witch. Everett took room two. “When should I expect you to decide the witch’s fate?” Everett asked. He knew what would befall Nicholas.

Bran rocked on his heels. “I don’t know just yet.” He told him honestly. “I would like to see what she is. I’ll give time for the flight to wear off and for food to be in her belly before I sit down with her.” 

Everett remained silent, but his face betrayed his uncertainty. Bran waited for him to speak the thought on his mind. “She...witch or not, she is a good girl. She has control over her wolf.” He said, voice soft and unthreatening. “She is a submissive.” 

“She is a witch.” Bran reminded him cooly. 

“And that is the only reason she might die here.” Everett said bitterly. He was fond of the witch, Bran gathered. Either Everett considered her his before she was changed or he’d grown fond of her after. “This has changed her magic. She has sacrificed her humanity. But I honestly do not think she is a danger.”

“We will go over this later.” Bran hid the irritation in his voice well, so only Charles could detect it. “There is food. Eat.” He ordered, and the command gave him an amusing flash to Meara standing before him, ordering him to do the same. 

Everett obeyed. They left the other car there; Everett was not his prisoner, and he would keep his Nicholas and witch where they were safest. Which was the room Bran put them in. “Anna and I will bring them to you this evening.” Charles said, when Bran dropped him off. He nodded, and left it at that. 

Meara was waiting with food when he walked in. She’d made sandwiches - turkey and a lot of other stuff, so that they were large and heaping - perfect for werewolves. She sat at the dining room table and pushed one towards him as soon as he stepped into the room. 

He sat beside her and ate, finishing almost as quickly as she did. “She was scared.” Meara said, after they finished. “You look irritated. She was scared and it irritated you.” 

“She is submissive.” Bran didn’t answer nor address the accusation, leaning back in his chair. “And I am the Marrok. She knows she has come here most likely to die.” 

Meara didn’t say anything. She swayed slightly, side to side in her seat. “Everett doesn’t want you to kill her, right?” She guessed. Bran raised a brow; he knew she was smart, but he wondered just how sharp she was.

“Submissives are werewolves who do not feel the violent urges dominant wolves do. They help packs run better, because they unite the whole with a more clear goal of protecting the pack.”

“That sounds like an Omega.” Meara said, still fidgeting and swaying.

“Perhaps a submissive is more similar to an Omega than a dominant wolf. They are still very different.” Bran explained. “Being submissive means that those around her are more inclined to protect her. Everett is a powerful alpha, so his instinct to protect her is very strong. He knew her before, and it’s possible he was already fond of her when this started.” 

“And that’s just making you more stressed out.” Meara muttered. She stopped swaying. “I get it. I think. But how will you know what to do with her? You can't just kill her for being made a werewolf, right? She hasn't had a year to grasp her control yet.”

Bran looked at her. She was right, of course. All werewolves are given the first year to learn to control the wolf, to control the change and the hunger.

“She is a witch.” He reminded himself more than her. She shrugged. “So? Charles does magic, right? You said she was a white witch. If she doesn't do black magic then it shouldn't matter that much, should it?”

It was a perfectly reasonable argument. And it annoyed him - which wasn't her fault. She didn't truly understand his aversion to witches, nor could she truly understand what a witch in a werewolf pack could cause. She still had much to learn.

“There are more than just our own laws to worry about. Witches have their own rules, and being a werewolf might possibly be something they deem a killable offense.” Bran stood. She wasn't doing it on purpose, this Omega, but he was talking to her about things that were bordering on a line that was unsafe. He should be discussing this with Charles, of at all. Not with her.

“Don't worry yourself about this.” He chided her. “Whatever is decided concerning the witch will be what is best.”

She gave him an annoyed look, and she obviously didn't believe him, no matter how truthful he was being. “Fine.” The single word was a lie, and he knew that she was well aware he could tell. “Fine, I'll stop pestering you about this.” That was truthful. She probably wasn't capable of not worrying, not fretting about her pack, but she'd obey his wishes. For now.

He took the plates to the kitchen sink and she shooed him off to wash them herself. He didn't see how her eyes watched his feet take him to his study, full of sadness and awareness.

She looked down at the sink, watching the water wash over the plates. She felt something in her tingle, and she took a deep breath. A bad idea crossed her mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the chapter that I had posted as ch5 originally, but I made a mistake. I've made a few tweaks to the content, so it's only a little different, but this is chapter 6.

Meara decided she'd be best off going alone.

Bran wanted Everett and his ilk to be left alone. It was a command given to the entire pack. But Meara decided she wasn't going to obey this command, and that taking anyone with her (no matter how scared she was) would just cause more trouble.

So a few hours after she ate with him, she got into the car Bran gave her and drove to the motel. She only took one wrong turn, but luckily there was no one watching the roads to tell on her. She ended up at the hotel and hoped the clerk (Marnie? Marlie?) wouldn’t call Bran or someone as soon as she saw the car.

Everett, she assumed, was sitting outside in a plastic chair. He was handsome, as she expected all alphas were, and when she parked close enough she could tell he was watching her closely. She remembered what Anna told her. Omega meant outside the pack structure, so when she met his eye she didn’t have to drop them. Jethro always told her just to do it anyways, to spare the confusion. And other than the notes from Anna, no one in Aspen creek mentioned anything.

She was here to help them, she reminded herself. Almost at a risk for herself. She didn’t need to cow to him.

She smiled at Everett and didn’t break eye contact as she walked up. “Hello.”

He frowned at her, and she could see something pale and gold flash in his eyes. “We were told to be undisturbed.” He said, right to the point.

“I know.” She said, clasping her hands and smiling innocently. “I might get in trouble for not listening to Bran later on, but I wanted to see if I could help.”

Everett was still frowning at her. “Help?” He murmured. He was holding eye contact with her, looking almost confused.

She kept smiling. “Bran mentioned she was scared. If she’s too scared things might go sour sooner than later. I was here to see if I could help calm her down.”

Everett stood, still staring her down. He took two steps towards her, and she didn’t move a muscle. His nostrils flared; he was scenting her. “You don’t smell…” He scowled. “You’re not Charles’s Anna.” He said to her, accusingly.

She laughed lightly. “No, no.” She said sweetly. “I’m not Anna, but I can still help. I’m Meara.” She stuck out her hand in offer to shake.

His hand closed over hers, and the gold faded. “You’re the other Omega. The one Bran picked up from Florida Rob’s pack.” He breathed, when a taste of her power trickled into his hands. “The one who killed his second.”

Her smile dropped a little. “Oh, that’s what everyone knows me by?” She sighed. “Oh boy. Yes. That’s me.”

Everett released her hand after a moment. “She’s afraid of what’s coming.” He rumbled. “Nicholas understands, but she doesn’t. It scares her more than anything about what she’s become.”

The door opened, and a man she could only assume was Nicholas looked at her with wide eyes. “Bran sent his Omega?” He asked, softly.

Meara smiled at him. “No.” She said sweetly. “She sent herself.”

They let her into the room, and she was momentarily put off by a strange, slick feeling over her skin. Nicholas muttered something about wards or spells, seemingly unaffected. The witch must have put up protective spells out of fear.

Meara upset when the stink of fear - she knew it now - slammed into her. She saw the girl, curled up on the farthest bed with her back tucked into the wall. She was watching Meara with eyes so yellow they looked like headlights. Every inch of her trembled - no, not trembling. She was _vibrating_ with a tension that Meara almost found disturbing.

“Hello.” Meara said, voice soft and gentle - almost like she was cooing a baby. The witch so stank of fear it made her stomach turned, but there was something sharp...she wasn’t sure what the smell was. She couldn’t compare it to anything she knew, but it bothered her in some way.

“Rebecca,” Nicholas said softly, stepping around Meara. “Rebecca, she’s just here to check on us. She means no harm.”

“She smells like him.” The witch, Rebecca, whispered to Nicholas, still watching Meara. She was talking about Bran. Meara supposed she would smell like Bran - she lived in his house. “I do, don’t I?” She would have to be careful not to baby her too much - sometimes that annoyed people. “I’m here to help you, and nothing else. I know you’re scared. I can make it at least a little better.”

“She’s going to help you,” Nicholas crouched so he was smaller than her, and put his hands on the edge of the bed, “You know we don’t lie. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Rebecca turned her sharp eyes to him. Fat tears streamed down her cheek. “Yes, you would.” She whispered softly.

When she blinked, Meara was standing in a basement. There was a heavy, steel, cage wall between her and a man with sad green eyes. He was telling her how sorry he was, telling her he wished it could all be taken back and things could be different.

And then suddenly, she had one knee on the bed and was leaning towards Rebecca, small tears dripping down her cheeks as she slid her hand over Rebecca’s knee. And stronger than before, she the coolness in her skin soothe over the heat in Rebecca’s body. Rebecca choked out a half sob.

“What are you?” She was crying again, leaning pathetically towards Meara. She almost looked like a child, wanting her mother to pick her up.

“Hopefully, a friend.” Meara cooed, and Rebecca lunged into her arms and took a starved breath. Nicholas looked pained, but Meara just wrapped her arms around her, making sure to settle a hand against her back in comfort.

Everett watched from the doorway. “Omega. A treasure.” he murmured. “When Bran lets you leave, you should come to my pack.”

Meara just smiled. “You’ll have to get in line. After losing their chance to steal Anna when they learned she was Charles’s mate, half the alphas on the continent have already petitioned Bran to have me sent their way when he thinks I’m ready.” She said lightly, letting Rebecca bury her face in her shoulder. “Two alphas from Alaska are emailing him every week, and one from Mexico has offered to send his mate to teach me spanish now. I think some of the others from Europe are chatting him up, too.”

Anna had told her about the requests. It hadn’t really dawned on her how precious Omegas were until that point. Now she understood they weren’t just a commodity; when Bran called her a treasure he meant it.

“Safe.” Rebecca said softly, holding a fistful of Meara’s shirt. “You make me feel safe. How do you do that?” She still had her nose against Meara’s shoulder.

“She does it by being her.” Nicholas muttered, leaning his head on the mattress and watching with sad eyes. “Omega.”

“Apparently bring peace and calm is a thing I do.” Meara told her. “So I came to help you calm down. Fear is fine, it means you understand. But being too afraid won’t help you.”

“...we’re going to die.”

Meara didn’t say no, like she wanted to. “I don’t know.” She said, softly. “There’s a lot to consider here. But I can tell you that being able to string together more than a few words when it comes time to face Bran would be helpful.”

“He’s going to kill us.” Rebecca said again. “The Marrok. He hates witches.”

Meara squeezed her hand. “He’s going to weigh all the options.” She said, and hoped Bran would. “I don’t know what he’s going to do, or what he’ll decide. All I can do is help you keep you keep your head on straight.”

Rebecca leaned away, only slightly. She wiped her eyes on her ill fitted shirt. She was still shaking, slightly. Meara wanted to fix that. “Tell me something about you.” She prodded, as if they were the only two people in the room. Everett turned and gestured; Nicholas looked reluctant, but stood and followed his alpha out of the room. They closed the door behind them.

Rebecca visibly relaxed. Meara pat her knee. “What did you do before? I know the pack would pay for your services as a witch sometimes, right?”

“They used to hire a black witch who lives by me.” She said softly. “But when my sister died, she gave me her power. It give me enough that they can hire me instead of the other witch. I think it’s better for their conscious, knowing that when I do magic for them it’s not because I’m cutting up little animals.”

Meara nodded. “Probably. I don’t suppose it’s been fun, cleaning up the pack’s messes.” She mused, searching for a topic that would help the girl relax.

Rebecca shrugged. “Blood and gore don’t bother me. Werewolves, they don’t like witches too much,” she frowned, and Meara checked the topic off as ‘bad’, “so they usually don’t interact with me much. Nicholas was married to my sister, so he’s been the go-between with us. I suppose I’ve gotten on with him well enough, but after my sister died he got so...clingy? No, protective. He changed me because he thought I was dying.”

Meara wanted to change the topic. “Your sister was a witch too, right?”

That made Rebecca smile, soft and sad. “Rachel was my older sister by a good ten years. When I was old enough to start learning spells, she taught me instead of our mother. She knew I didn’t want to really do magic, so she taught me enough until I was older and smart enough to know I needed it. She was really just the nicest person ever. You remind me of her.” Rebecca looked at her, searching in her face. “You don’t look anything like her, but you just...remind me of her somehow.”

Meara thought, for a moment, that what she was saying was just some effect of being an Omega. But she thought of Nicholas, and something else trickled in her thought. Perhaps this Rachel had been more.

“She sounds like she was a good sister.” She said softly. Rebecca nodded, still smiling. “When she married Nicholas, my mother nearly had a fit. There are rules about mingling with other species, she always told Rachel. But Rachel was just so in love, and I’d never seen her so happy than when he was with her. He treated her so wonderfully, I told my mother to shove it and to leave them alone. I was scared of my mother, but for Rachel I’d probably take apart the world.”

Meara smiled, leaning back. Rebecca relaxed a little more, sighing.  
“Rachel’s the reason I went to school. I have a degree - bachelors in paleontology. Can you see a witch studying dinosaur bones? On second thought, maybe that makes sense. But I would have never gone without Rachel encouraging me, helping me pay for it. She was so good to me, and when she got sick all I could do was help her pass with the least amount of pain as possible.” Rachel rubbed her cheeks. “She was always so beautiful and poised before, then she looked so _horrible_. She gave me her magic, and it feels like I have a piece of her with me now. That helped me with the wolf,” she touched her chest “helped me negotiate, and control it.”

Rebecca looked at Meara again, her smile half gone and her eyes no longer yellow. Her hands were still.

“Why are you here?” She asked, sounding confused. “Why come see me?”

Meara shrugged. “I don’t know what pushed me to come here, in all honesty.” She had an idea that she didn’t want to address, but she still didn’t know for certain. “Bran was put off by how afraid you were, and I was thinking if I helped you calm down it would help him.” She said, after a moment.

“What are you - his wife? His daughter?”

Meara laughed and shook her head. “Just pack, for the moment. He took me in and has been helping me learn about being a werewolf and an Omega.” She explained. “I owe him a lot. I feel…” And then, something tender stirred in her chest. “He’s the Marrok. The alpha of all alphas in North America. He takes care of everyone. Sometimes I feel like he needs someone to help take care of him.” The words felt strange out loud, like they weren’t mean to be said. They made her cheeks feel warm.

_What do you think you’re doing?_

Meara blinked, faltering. She'd been told all about Bran’s “frightening” psychic gifts. It was Charles who'd told her that Bran could only speak to the minds of his. He'd never done it before, never even talked about it before. It was...it threw her off.

Rebecca tensed again, sensing something was wrong. Everett knocked once before walking in, phone in hand - it was ringing, and he looked grave.

“It’s Bran.” He told her, before answering. “Yes?”

“I’ve been told there’s someone visiting you.” Meara could hear Bran’s cool voice on the other side of the phone. “And I would like for her to come home now.”

Meara smiled sheepishly at Everett and held her finger to her lips. “She came even though you told her and the rest of the pack not to.” Everett said, looking at her. “You should let her come and join my pack. She’d give the boys a run for their money.”

“In due time.” Bran said cooly. “Charles is coming to fetch you. If she doesn’t want to have to deal with him she should come back now.” It was a suggestion.

“She can hear you.” Everett told him, and Meara stuck her tongue out at him.

“Meara.” Bran said, firmly.

“Alright, alright.” She waved a hand, as if he was standing there in front of her. “I’ll head back now.”

The end of the line clicked. “He’s not happy with you.” Everett said, warning. “Don’t piss him off.”

Meara turned, ignoring the warning. Rebecca watched her with wide, brown eyes. “Remember not to let yourself get too afraid.” She cooed, touching the girl’s hands. “You seem like a smart girl. Play it smart.” She winked, and squeezed Rebecca’s fingers. Rebecca swallowed, but nodded.

Everett opened her car door for her. “You’d like Texas.” He told her. “The property the pack owns is a huge ranch range, plenty space to run on. Plus Texas looks more like Florida than Montana. Gulf of Mexico is right there too.”

“You can try and seduce me later.” She told him, before seriously saying, “Take care of her. I don’t care if she’s a witch. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

Everett nodded. Rebecca watched her drive away, and Meara’s wolf stirred when she saw the girl’s shoulder slump and tighten. She would protect this girl, too. Witch or not.

* * *

Bran was in his study when she got back to the house.

She considered going to her room and deliberately ignoring him.But she had an itch - she needed to talk to him, to deal with him now. She could sense his frustration even as she was driving back. She took off her shoes and left them by the door, padding barefoot through the big house.

“I said clearly.” Bran started, when she made it two steps into the study. “That they were not to be let be until otherwise.”

“You did.” She said, not sitting. She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked on her feet. “But she was so scared. And it bothered you.”

“So you disobey because you _thought_ something bothered me?” He was looking at her, and she was unfazed by his gaze. “I _know_ it bothered you. I could tell, even if you didn’t say anything about it. And I get why it bothered you, because she looked like she was about to keel over and have a heart attack she was so frightened.”

“It was not your place.” He told her, sharper than before. He didn’t like being disobeyed.

“Maybe. But I helped more than I would have if I had listened.” She countered. “She’s calm. She’s not going to tremble and shake like a rabbit in a snare when you talk over her.”

“You don’t understand.” He ignored the slight jab she made. “There is a way things must be done. You can’t just do as you please because you disagree.”

“I don’t disagree. I think the pack should keep away from them for now - I just decided I wasn’t going to listen anyways.” She kept her cool. “Things do need to be a certain way; but there’s reason to make them harder to do.”

Bran was angry. It washed past her in a hot wave of power before he quickly brought it back under control. “She is a _witch_.” He told her, almost snarling. She blinked, almost frowning. Bran was...he was way angrier than she expected. Of course she expected some snapping and disapproving glare, and probably some sort of punishment for disobeying. But he - Bran was the most in-control person she’d ever met - he was visibly angry with her. Upset. Distressed.

She swallowed, and popped a knuckle.

“You keep reminding yourself.” She said, sharper than she’d like. “You don’t like witches - you’re scared of them, and I get it. _I get it_ , I do. I’ve met black witches before - of course I didn’t tell you, why would I? I met them and they scared the pants off of me and I never want to meet another black witch again. But she’s a white witch. She’s scared and she just wants to go and be a fu-” She cut the curse short. “Flipping paleontologist. She thinks you’re going to cut off her head just because you don’t like witches and she was so scared of me even _after_ she scented me, _after_ I walked into the room, and _after_ Nicholas and Everett told her I was no threat, she was trying to dig herself a hole in the corner of the wall.” She took a breath. She was mad. Mad that he was mad at her.

"Rebecca didn’t do this to herself. Why should she be punished for something she didn’t want?” She snipped.  

Bran’s flashed gold, but he sat back in his seat. “None of us wanted this.” He said coldly. “It doesn’t matter that it’s not fair. The world isn’t fair.”

“I didn’t say it’s not fair - it’s not _just_.” She hissed. She wasn’t a child. He wouldn’t spin this into something like that - she'd be damned if she let him.

“Look-” She couldn’t help but huff, “-whatever anything else is aside, if she walks in to this so terrified of you that she can't even walk straight, who knows what could happen? She might defend herself - her magic could lash out involuntarily. She had spells up all over the room she was so scared, I could feel them sliding off my skin like oil. Or worse - Nicholas and Everett are on edge because she's so frightened. What happens if an alpha and a wolf in his pack who killed his third decide to get uncooperative?”

There was a sound logic there and that made him angrier. As if a side note, he tucked away the _‘spells slid off my skin_ ’ bit.

“You think I haven't thought of all those possibilities yet?” He accused her. “I have thought of those and a thousand other possible scenarios.”

“So that means that you’re smart enough to have thought about sending Anna at least to calm them down.” She snapped. “There. Problem solved.” She held back the snide _your welcome_ , and scowled at him. He stood, and she didn’t budge an inch - but he smelled the fear that stirred when he did so.

“Do you think she is the first one to be something she didn’t want? Do you think she is the first to be brought here and judged for nothing other than existing?” And then another wash of anger breezed by her.

“She’s not the first or the last and that doesn’t mean a damn thing! You’re going to kill her, I know you want to because that’s the easiest way to deal with all of this because - because you’re so pig headed - you’re _scared_ of what is possible because she’s a _witch_ and that’s putting you off enough to not use that big ass brain of yours and you’re just making everything so...so _fucking_ _difficult_ for yourself!” She was yelling at him, something Anna didn’t really do. Anna usually got her point across without shouting. Meara was loud enough to be certain that you heard her - and that you heard her right the first time.

“The possibility of her dying shouldn’t even be on the table - she’s in control of her wolf, and she’s been this what, four weeks? It took me _months_ , she got it in her hands in less than four weeks _because_ she is a witch. Her sister’s magic guided her negotiations with her wolf.” She was starting to lose steam, and there were tears threatening in the back of her throat. “I don’t care what’s fair. She’s not the one who broke the rules. You never punish children for the crimes of their parents.”

He didn’t walk around the desk. Something about the last thing she said hit sharply, probably more than she intended.

“I understand.” She said, and now the tears were choking her words. “Christ, I understand, I really do. I’m not stupid. I’m not a stupid little girl, no matter what you want to say to hurt me. I may be a baby compared to you, but I’ve got enough life experience to understand that you are making a decision for the good of all of the wolves in your care. Not even in some alternate reality where everyone changes into rabbits would this be an easy job. But I really feel like you’re going to make a wrong choice, and I can’t just sit back and watch - because it will haunt you and you’re already stressed so much about this that I _know_ it will.”

And then her fire was back to the singe of a candle, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. She was so worried about him and she didn’t understand why - didn’t understand why she was so emotional about this.

Bran looked at her, and were he anyone else, he would have sworn when the realization hit him. He of all people should have known what the magic was that was linking them together. It was spidersilk thin and more fragile than the glass of a lightbulb, but the magic that was tying him to her was the magic of a mate bond.

Now was _not_ the time he needed to deal with something like this.

He stepped around the desk, the anger at being disobeyed and disrespected gone. She angrily wiped her cheeks, trying to pretend she wasn’t crying. When he calmed down, she began to calm down as well.

“You understand.” He said, voice more gentle. “But not everything. Even the smallest decision could have a fatal impact on so many. I haven’t decided on her death yet. Things must be discussed and I take time to process these things. I don’t just flip a coin.”

She didn’t look at him, clasping her hands together and fiddling with her nails. Her nervous habit, it seemed.

“My aversion to witches has made me wary of what she could become, and you shouldn’t be so ready to trust her fully. She may be a white witch now, but this could drive her to change. The change may have very well already pushed her into black magic - _without_ her realizing it. That is something we must determine.”

She sniffled. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.” She said softly. “I just...when I saw her, I was - I was suddenly curled up in Jethro’s basement, staring at the man who killed my family as he tried to apologize. I remember fighting something inside me for control. Something that scared me more than Jethro did.”

He stepped around the desk. “I don’t know why this got me so worked up. I know I have a short temper, but I’ve never just...and I never thought I’d - to _you_ -”

She wrapped her arms around herself, and he put his hands just below her shoulders. “It’s alright.” He told her, gentle. He couldn’t blame her for feeding off him like she did; she had no clue it was even happening. She always looked fragile, but in this moment, where her emotions were running so high and she was so upset over this, he wanted to tear apart anything and anyone who made her feel this way.

And it made old aches throb to know he was the one making her hurt.

“You are an Omega. Your instinct to protect those you deem yours is just as strong as an alpha’s. Violent tendencies, you do not have, but I suppose if you get frustrated enough you lash out. Anna has done something similar before.” Several times, he recalled dryly. “There are more tact ways to handle this, yes. But you are young and have time to learn.”

“I want _Rebecca_ to have time to learn, too.” She said pathetically.

He kissed her forehead, which made her toes tingle. “I know.”

“Don’t placate me just because I’m crying instead of yelling.” She growled.

He released her. “Will you trust me to make the right decision on this matter?” He almost found it silly to ask her, but it would provide some form of comfort. At least it would get her to stop crying, he hoped.

She looked up at him, and there were still tears welling in her eyes. He had an urge - to hold her face in his hands and press her close. He kept his hands where they were.

“Yeah. Alright.” She muttered, and wiped her cheeks.


	7. Chapter 7

When it was time, the pack was called to the pole barn behind Bran’s house.

The pole barn was large enough to fit the whole pack and then some - it was where they made new wolves, Bran told her. They used to use the school auditorium, but Bran disliked using the school for such a bloody and often deadly affair. 

“I am old enough to believe such things leave a mark on a space.” He told her, and she agreed. 

Kara went with her. When they came off the back porch, Devon rose from his nest by the stairs and trailed at her hip.

Bran was leaning outside, waiting for everyone to arrive. She gave him a small, supportive smile. Supportive and apologetic. He nodded to her, but there was a graveness that made her uncomfortable. She brushed her hand along his arm as she passed. 

Devon stayed with her as she walked in, even when she hesitated and Kara made a beeline for a man across the open space. He had a few feet of space around him, despite the crowd pouring into the barn. Meara followed after a moment, her hand nestled in Devon’s fur. 

The man glanced up at her, meeting her gaze with dark eyes. He was beautiful, looked barely older than her, and radiated the authority and power of an alpha. Asil. She’d not met him yet, but she knew about him. He was a wolf who came here to die some time ago. 

“So this is the little Omega who yelled and cursed at the Marrok.” He purred, and she gave him a look that was confused, before it became horrified. She whipped and looked at Kara, who took a sudden interest in the light fixtures.

“Snitch.” She hissed. “Is that what I’m going to be known by now?”

“It’s certainly an interesting thing to be known by.” He told her, and then he pushed off the pole he leaned on. “Asil Moreno. Kara has told me much about you.” 

She stuck her hand out to shake it, and he instead kissed her knuckles. “I’m Meara.” She said, trying not to feel too nervous. There were other members of the pack staring at them. “Anna’s told  _ me _ about you. Surprised it’s taken me this long to meet you. Not that I'm out much myself, but I figured I'd see you somewhere around this place.”

“I enjoy my privacy, and according to Anna you hide yourself away in your room.” Asil said. “Perhaps tomorrow you can come see my roses. The grandifloras have just begun to bloom for the summer.”

She smiled. The tension in the air made her look to the center of the barn, where Charles stood over a kneeling Nicholas and crumpled Rebecca. Everett stood front and center a few feet away, posture relaxed but eyes intent as they focused on his wolves. Meara’s  smile dropped as she watched Rebecca focus on her trembling fingers.

“Perhaps tomorrow.” She said softly, before giving a downright vicious look to a small cluster of wolves who whispered about the witch.

Asil followed her gaze. They didn't say anything else.

Bran came in and closed the door behind him, the click of it silencing the little chatter in the barn. He strode to the center to stand just in front of Charles’s shoulder. “Take a seat.” He said.

The pack obeyed. There weren't enough seats on the hay bales, so the rest settled on the hardwood floor. Meara kept her legs crossed instead of stretching them out - easier to get up from. Devon settled on the side of Meara opposite of Kara, who sat between Meara and Asil.

Meara didn't bother hiding how unhappy she was. She knew most of the pack thought the witch would be better of dead, and she thought they were stupid.

“Nicholas Aldworth. Your alpha has brought you here because you have violated our laws. You made a new wolf without permission or consent from either your alpha or the wolf, and you killed your pack’s third without declaring challenge.” Bran’s voice carried authority as it rang throughout the barn. “You come here understanding the punishment for your crimes.”

“Yes.” Nicholas kept his head bowed. “Yes, I understood from the beginning.”

“And yet you still did it.” Bran almost sounded sad at the prospect. Something like disappointment seeped into Meara with those words. It was a strange feeling and she shook it off.

“You came here to plead for the witch’s life.” Bran said. 

“Rebecca was dying. I had to do something to save her - there's an epidemic in our area, it only impacts the humans. She got so sick-” Nicholas shook his head. “She's done nothing but accepted this burden I have given her. She learned to control her wolf.”

“But this has changed the witch’s magic.” Bran said. “She herself has admitted it is more volatile and strange to her. That is more dangerous than just a new wolf learning control.”

Meara frowned. Rebecca hadn't told her - was it something she just admitted?

“She can learn. She's smart, she'll find a way if you can give her time.” Nicholas was begging now. “She isn’t dangerous. Please, give her a chance. Let her be extended the mercy of the law.” 

He was  _ begging _ , like a child. Like a victim pleading for a chance. This was  _ his _ fault, Meara thought hotly. He didn’t get to beg. He ruined this girl’s life and killed someone else for it - he did this all, and here he was, pleading with Bran like he deserved some measure of mercy. 

Meara gave a harsh sigh, biting the inside of her bottom lip bitterly. Kara leaned against her. 

“She’s a witch.” Someone else said, after a moment of silence on Bran’s part. “Even if she does not become something dangerous, we have to consider what the witches do when they find out about her.” 

“They may not. It’s not as if the witches are some whole unit. There are no more covens and what’s left of the old families hate each other still. The chances of them sticking their nose into werewolf business enough are slim to none.”

“The chance is still there.” 

“So we kill her based on potential?” Someone else countered. 

“You all act as if this witch is the first to be Changed.” Someone drawled. This wolf looked seventeen and gorgeous - and he also looked very, very old. “Was it not just a short while ago a witchblood was Changed by our second?” 

Charles did not react to his mention. Meara looked sharply at Bran. He hadn’t mentioned that. No one had. 

“If you wish to kill for her blood alone, we have to go and kill her, too. And there are several others who must die to obey this new law you wish to write.” The man grinned at Bran. Knowing, telling, not threatening. 

There was chatter, arguments. The man turned his grin to Meara and she clutched a fistful of Devon’s fur. That look in his eyes was eager and mad. 

Bran quickly silenced them, “Enough.” He said, not shouting. The wolves all settled against their seats once more. 

“The circumstances regarding Chelsea Sani and her change have been dealt with and shall not be questioned.” Bran said, looking at the mad wolf - who dropped his eyes immediately, still grinning. 

Rebecca glanced over her shoulder, peering at Meara with teary eyes. Charles watched the motion carefully; Meara felt her throat tighten. 

The room seemed to shift out of focus. Bran was saying something, speaking to Nicholas or the pack - she couldn’t hear. All she could see was Rebecca, kneeling in a pool of darkness, thick and grasping. Dozens of womanly hands ran along Rebecca’s legs, reaching out of the dark to touch the witch with a sort of twisted possessiveness that made her stomach churn.

Meara blinked. Rebecca was hunched over again, tears dripping into her hands once more. There was a sort of uncomfortable silence and Meara tasted something coppery on her tongue; she’d bit through her lip.

“The witch will live for now. She has control of her wolf and has her year to prove she can retain that control. But her magic - she has six months to learn how to control it. She will stay here during that time.” Bran said suddenly. Meara felt the relief crash through her, washing the confusion out; she’d missed something important, she thought. “But you know the punishment for your crime.” 

Nicholas sagged in relief, and Rebecca made a small choke of a sob. “I know. I’m alright with it now. I don’t think the wolf will fight you too hard.” He smiled at Charles. “I’m ready to be with Rachel.”

Charles gestured, and Nicholas stood. “Thank you.” He said softly to Bran, a tear sliding down his cheek. He kissed Rebecca’s forehead and she crumpled, sniffling once more.

Meara was already on her feet, eyes focused on Rebecca as she marched with a purpose across the barn and knelt beside the girl. No one said anything, not even Bran, but everyone watched her. “Why don’t you come with me.” She cooed, half pulling the woman to her feet. “You don’t have to see this.”

Rebecca clung to her, the tightness of her grip hiding the way she trembled. There were some who looked at her with some sort of protest; one wolf took a step forward, but Bran looked sharply at him, and he retreated. Nicholas watched with a sad smile, and Meara couldn’t help the venomous glare she passed him over her shoulder. He just smiled, but ducked his gaze and tipped his chin so she had his throat. She didn’t care. 

Without even looking at Bran, Meara wrapped an arm around Rebecca’s waist and walked her out of the barn. Devon followed, and she made sure to wait until he was clear of it before slamming the door shut.

Rebecca made it three steps into the house before she collapsed against Meara, sobbing. Meara wrapped her arms tightly around her and carried her to the stairway. Meara thought, ruefully as she sat with the girl, of a time where she was like this once. So full of fear and trembles, feeling abandoned by the world.

She put her head against Rebecca’s and stroked the girl’s hair. Her power flooded the house, the peace and calm filling the space. Rebecca shivered and her sobs quieted. She buried her face in Meara’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around her. Meara rocked back and forth with her, every so slightly; how one comforted a small child. 

They sat there for a while, Rebecca crying, Meara swaying in her seat with her. They heard the cars all start outside, heard the pack leave after a while. No one came in, though; Bran must still have been in the barn with Everett and Charles.

Meara put her hands on Rebecca’s shoulders. “Go wash your face upstairs. I have a lavender soap by the left sink. Wash your cheeks with it. The lavender will help your nerves.” She instructed. When Rebecca slowly climbed up and closed the bathroom door, Meara wobbled into the kitchen with weak legs and turned the water as cold as she could get it. 

She splashed her face and crumpled. She pressed her forehead against the sink cabinet and took a deep breath. Her hands were trembling. Why was she so shaken? What was causing her to feel like this? It was the hands - the vision. 

“Meara?” 

Bran stood in the doorway. He was staring at her with a concerned look. His hands were half at his sides, like he was ready to come and grab her. 

She licked the inside of her lip. The bite was mostly healed over now. “Just got a little overwhelmed.” She told him, voice cracking slightly. She painfully pushed herself back to her feet; her knees quivered. 

“That sucked. I don’t know why I got so worked up.” It was the first blatant lie she’d told, and she quickly corrected it when she turned to face him. “Well, I’ve got a really good idea why. I just didn’t expect to have a reaction like that; all shaky and stuff.” 

She looked down at her hands, which still shook. She clasped them tightly together in an attempt to keep them still. “What’s going to happen to Rebecca?”

Bran sighed; he was suddenly standing much closer. Close enough that he could reach out and hold her trembling hands in his. He soothingly rubbed his thumbs over the back of her hands, unclasping her fingers and smoothing out her trembles.

“I've asked someone I trust to take care of her and let her stay with him. She will be checked on periodically - Charles will be overseeing her control of her magic himself. Everett asked for updates - he wants to keep her in his pack.” He explained, gently. He didn’t tell her that Everett had also asked if a member of his own pack, whom he trusted, would be allowed to come and protect her. He’d told him no and that had left some tension. 

“Will you let her go back to his pack?” Meara asked softly, looking up at him. As young as she looked - full faced and sixteen, had he known better - she looked so tired, so aged by the weight of stress. 

“Maybe. Any further decisions I make depend on her.” Bran said, voice odd. He hadn’t realized he’d been leaning closer to her. He took a step back and released her hands.

Rebecca came downstairs. Her eyes were red and she was wobbly, but when she saw Bran she froze and bowed her head, eyes glued to the floor. The scent of her fear was overpowering. It irritated Bran and made him pity her in some part. 

“Stop that.” Meara said gently, stepping around him and wrapping one arm around Rebecca’s. Even from a few feet away, Bran could feel the effect of her power as she attempted to calm Rebecca. She wasn’t as skilled at it as Anna, in a way. Not as soft and subtle about it. “You know he’s not going to just hurt you. You don’t have to be so scared of him all the time.” 

Rebecca leaned towards her, half putting Meara between her and Bran. “I’m sorry.” She murmured. 

“It’s ok, I know you can’t help it. But you’ve got to get a grip. It’s just not healthy, being afraid all the time like that. You don’t think he’s going to just blow past all the fanfare he loves and hurt you, do you?” 

Bran raised a brow. Rebecca glanced at him once more, before bowing her head and stepping closer to Meara. “No.” She whispered. “I just…”

Meara huffed. “It’s ok.” She said, putting her other hand on Rebecca’s shoulder.

Bran let her escort Rebecca to the front, where the pack member Jonah - whose twins sons were a werewolf and an old man in town - waited, lounged in one of the chairs. “Hello.” He stayed seated, despite Bran coming out on the porch after them; it made Rebecca less shaken, because Jonah was much taller than the rest of them. Not being towered over helped. “You’ll get my wife’s old room - I promise it’s nice and clean.” He said. “And you’ll have an entire hall between you and the rest of the house. Otherwise it's just me, my two sons, and our pet fish.” 

Meara explained that she would be staying with Jonah, but that she would come and check up on her as often as she could reasonably manage. Meara helped her into Jonah’s truck and waved her off, wrapping her arms around herself when the truck was out of sight. 

“She’ll be fine.” Bran told her, when she came back onto the porch. He kept his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to touch her. “Jonah is good with children and frightened wolves, and she is practically both.” 

“I never asked her how old she was.” Meara muttered. 

“She’s eighteen.” Bran told her, and she slumped. “For the love of the gods.” She turned and rubbed her eyes tiredly. He let her walk in first before closing the door behind them. “I need a nap. Or a drink. Maybe just go to bed early.” 

He didn’t answer. “Bed.” She decided, and retreated up the stairs. He watched her go, frowning as he felt her exhaustion seep into him. Or maybe it was his own. 

He hesitated. Perhaps bed would be a good idea for him, too.

* * *

Meara woke in the middle of the night. 

She was sweating, breathing heavily when she bolted upright in her bed. The room stank of fear and rage - but she only felt dizziness and confusion. She smoothed her hair back, feeling how damp it was with sweat. 

Her wolf stirred, and urged her from the bed. This time, she went to Bran’s room on her own feet, with the wolf pushed her to move faster. 

It was just like before. He seemed fine, but he was sweating and had a death grip on his sheets, jaw tightly set. 

Meara crawled onto the bed and put one hand over a tightly clenched fist. She was careful not to lean over him, but beside him where he could see her when he woke. “Bran.” She said, voice soft. “Bran, it’s just a bad dream. Wake up.”

And he did, seconds after the soft rush of her power slipped from her fingers to his. He sat upright and looked at her with intense, pale gold eyes. “It was a nightmare. Maybe the same as last time.” She told him. He snatched her arm in a vice like grip and half pulled her towards him. She couldn’t help but take a sharp breath; the suddenness and very not-Bran like way he was being was mildly startling.

He was breathing deep and quick, and the gold in his eyes didn’t go away - he squeezed, painfully tight. She swallowed thickly. “I had to wake you.” She said softly. “You were afraid and in pain. Nightmares like that - I had to wake you.” Just like he was last time. She hesitated, before reaching slowly and touching his chest with her other hand. 

Her power flooded past her fingertips. He immediately released her arm, slouching and leaning back. He took a deep breath; she withdrew her hand and sat back, waiting.

“A bad dream.” His words sounded thick, like he was speaking with a numb or swollen tongue. “This is the second time.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself than her. He rubbed one hand down his face in a sign of frustration. 

Then he caught sight of the dark and red looking fingerprints - rapidly forming bruises.

He grabbed her hand when she attempted to slip away from him, holding her -  _ gently _ \- on the bed. “I hurt you - when you only came to help me.” He murmured, staring at the bruises. It was dark in his room, but the bruises were growing dark as her accelerated healing pushed them along.

“You were still half asleep - defensive. Waking up from a dream like that and having someone leaning over you in your bed.” She tried to reason. “You didn’t hurt me. It’s fine.” 

He didn’t let go of her hand, so she sat cross-legged and waited as patiently as she could manage.

“It is not fine.” He mumbled, holding her hand with both of his. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“It  _ is _ fine.” She told him, and her other hand settled over the blanket that covered his knee. “It is. There’s no fault here.” 

He kissed her fingers, something that made her suddenly very nervous and shy. The sudden sense of arousal surprised her, too - and that made her want to get  _ out _ because she knew arousal was something he could smell. 

He held her hand there for a moment. “Do…” Her wolf stirred again, protective and unwilling to leave him in distress. “Do you need me to stay?” The feelings powered over her shyness and apprehension. 

There was something else there. Possessiveness, and something mushy and tender that she didn’t want to address.

He smiled at her, and released her hand. “No, no.” He said, sounding more like himself. “You’ve helped me plenty - again. Go back to bed - I’m sorry for waking you.” 

She shook off the strange sense of disappointment and frowned at him. “Alright.” She said, reluctant. She slipped back to her room and stared at the ceiling, wondering why she would feel like that.

Bran didn’t bother going back to sleep. He wondered how long it would be until the mate bond would be more, until it would be obvious and permanent. He wondered when he had grown so fond of the Omega in his care, and felt a shiver of fear at the notion. He couldn’t afford the love again - not after Blue Jay Woman. And when he looked at Meara just now, he felt something in him that he hadn’t felt since Charles’s mother. 

No. Not again. Not  _ ever _ again.


	8. Chapter 8

Meara checked on Rebecca regularly.

Once a week for the past three weeks - only because Bran fought her on going every two days. She usually took over tea and after Rebecca commented on the color of her nails, started taking over the collection of nail polish she was building thanks to Sage.

Rebecca seemed far more relaxed after the first week. Jonah was kind and patient, and gave her the space she needed while managing to foster a sort of trust between them.

“I'm really good with kids.” Jonah told her one day. “And I used to be a trauma nurse, during one of the wars a long time ago. I'm good with frightened people, too.”

“She's not a child technically. She's lived as an adult for a while now.” Meara warned. “Don't baby her too much.”

Jonah just smiled. “I think, at the moment, being babied is more what she needs.”

Meara liked Jonah much, much more after that. He took care of Rebecca. His twin sons were kind to her, too; Daniel was a werewolf and Dexter was an old man, both veterans of Vietnam. Daniel became a werewolf shortly after coming home, but Dex decided to stay human, and married a squad mate from the war. His husband had passed away some years ago, so Dex came home to his father and brother for his final days. His eighty-fifth birthday would be soon.

Meara liked them both. Dexter told her when she smiled he felt twenty-two again, and told Rebecca her hair reminded him of the beautiful, moonless night he and his husband were married on. Daniel quietly told Meara Dexter’s health had been better since she and Rebecca now frequented his home, and tearfully thanked her.

“That is why Bran doesn't generally pay much mind to the humans here.” Asil told her shortly after. She frequented his home now, mostly spending their time in his hothouse as he told her of his long-dead mate and what he knew of omegas. He told her what he knew and helped her figure out how her power worked. 

“Humans live and die too fast, and they are fragile and easily broken. Holding on to that many people with the lifespans we live just makes living all that much harder.” 

“That's sad.” Meara told him, helping him prune and water his roses. “Sure, we have each other - the pack and other wolves. But everything dies. That's no reason to shut out other people.” She knew that wasn't quite what Bran did, but she did know that was what Asil did. More than he should.

He smiled at her with all his teeth. “Little Omega. One day when you are older you might understand why we do what we do.”

Meara didn't tell him that she understood fine. She usually let them - Asil and Bran and the older wolves - do that to her; underestimate and dismiss her. It made conversations easier when she wasn’t getting confrontational. 

Instead she crossed her arms and pouted. “Don't tease me with your ‘I'm an old fart’ jargon.” She told him. The playfulness helped him, Anna told her. He was tricky and playful by nature, and the seriousness and isolation brought his mood down; no matter how much he tried to hide it.

Asil laughed. 

She spent the rest of the day helping him in the hothouse, filling the space with chatter about Omegas and roses and stories that Asil told of the past. He didn’t like talking about the past, usually. Even Anna heard less of the past from him. But Meara had a gift for drawing out the stories that people held in them. She wondered if that was her speciality; but Asil told her not to think of Omegas as having different talents and what not. 

“You aren’t artists, in the sense of the word. You do not have one skill or another.” Asil said, handing her a pair of beautiful roses twined together. “While some things may come easier to others it does not mean you are not capable of the exact same thing.”

She held the roses and smiled softly. “This and that, alpha and omega, Moor and Marrok.” She mumbled, as he walked her to his car; she’d walked to Jonah’s house from Bran’s, and from there jogged to Asil’s. She slid into his passenger seat and cradled the roses. “I feel like this would have been easier if I wasn’t trying to catch up after five years.”

Asil’s smile dropped a little, and Meara spoke before he could. “I think Jethro was too sick to think of anything else. He didn’t want to hurt anyone so badly that he sealed himself away in his house. I think if I had asked, he would have let me leave. Honestly, if I have known about the pack or anything else, and had asked him to take me to them, he would have.” 

She leaned her head against the window and sighed as he drove. She peered down at the roses he gave her. Jethro, poor, poor Jethro. Maybe if she had known more about herself, she could have helped him. If she hadn’t been so scared of him, she could have helped. 

Asil’s hand touched her knee, warm and gentle. “Jethro’s greatest crime -” He murmured, “- was keeping something as beautiful as you locked away from the world for so many years.” 

She smiled at him and touched his hand. He was frowning at the road, his other hand tightly gripping the wheel. “Look at you, worrying over little old me.” She cooed, hoping to calm him. He was incredibly displeased - angry - with her captivity and deprivation, and moreso with the way she was made a werewolf. “The big bad Moor is sweet on the baby faced Omega?” 

He smiled then, glancing at her. “That baby face of yours camouflages that sharp tongue and wit.” He told her. 

“Oh?” She blinked, and he snorted. 

When he dropped her off, he opened the door for her to the car and the house. Bran was there, and he gave Asil a relaxed smile. “A momentous occasion, for you to emerge from your roses just to escort a lady home.” He said. Meara laughed silently - but Asil saw a tension in Bran that she was too young to see. Bran was staring him down, and despite the relaxed posture, he seemed to be sizing Asil up.

“It would wrong to let the little lady walk home.” Asil told his alpha without looking at him. 

Meara turned and half put herself between him and Bran; perhaps she saw more than Asil originally thought. 

“Thank you, Asil, for driving me home - and for the roses.” She smiled, and the unmistakable rush of an Omega’s power slithered up his ankles as if the room was filling with water. She was absolutely more aware than he thought; he filed that information away. 

He kissed her hand, and left. Bran watched him leave and stared at the wood of the door even after Meara closed it. 

She turned and gave him a doe-eyed, concerned look. “What’s wrong?” She asked, voice gentle - but he could tell she was slightly annoyed. “You got all territorial or something on him. Asil wasn’t even out of his car three seconds.” 

Bran blinked at her. He hadn’t even realized it; he just saw Asil’s hand touch Meara’s elbow as he guided her up the porch and it set off the predatory, possessive wolf in him.  _ Not his _ , it had whispered.  _ My mate. _

“Well?” She was more obviously annoyed now, foot tapping impatiently. “Are you going to be mean to Asil everytime he’s around now? I thought you liked him.” 

“I am old,” He said, “and so is Asil. Don’t worry yourself over what games we play.” 

She held the roses closer, running her hand alongside one of the few thorns Asil deliberately left. “Uh-huh.” 

She left to cut the roses and put them in water. Bran cursed himself. Mate bond - his wolf saw her as his mate, and it called for the death of any who tried to take her from him. 

That wouldn’t do. 

* * *

Meara was glad things were settling down in the pack. It made her feel more at ease - except for the things about Bran she noticed.

He wouldn't seem any different had she not started paying attention after the second nightmare. Almost everything he did was the same as before. Except for the things that concerned her.

Before, the little touches that she now knew were common between pack and more common because she was an Omega were normal. But now there was something different. Everyone he touched her it seemed less casual and more intimate; his fingers left an emptiness in their wake that bothered her, because she'd never wanted someone to just touch her like that before. Even when he looked at her, there was something far more intense in his gaze - and she, who would never need to drop her eyes even when she starred one like him down, felt like she needed to look anywhere else but at him.

And then there was the way he’d squared off Asil the other day, dared him to challenge him when Asil breathed just the barest of flirts.

It bothered her. Made her nervous and unsure. So she went to see Anna when Charles was busy.

“He is your alpha.” Anna reasoned, as they sat on the kitchen counters and drank hot cocoa. “And you were really bothered by the whole ordeal with the wi-Rebecca.”

Meara swung her feet from side to side. “Yeah, but this doesn't feel like that. It's like...it reminds me of how intrusive I felt, when I watched you and Charles during the hunt last. When you brought that elk down? And he came over and touched his nose to you - it looked so  _ intimate. _ I felt embarrassed and I didn't feel comfortable watching because it felt private.” Meara sighed. “And when he had that bad dream, and he was apologizing because he had squeezed my arm a little too hard - he bought all these books after that, did I tell you? First editions and all sort of collectable ones - never said it was an apology, but it felt like that.” 

“It absolutely was an apology.” Anna smiled.

Meara shrugged. “But—that dream - he held my hand and he kissed my fingers and I felt nervous. It was...very intimate. And I got this weird feeling of possessiveness. I, my wolf, didn't want to leave the bed. We wanted to stay there and hold him.”

Anna frowned. “Really?” She muttered. “ _ Just _ hold him?”

Meara’s cheeks were red. “Yes.” She hissed the lie. “Maybe. I try not to think about it much - too embarrassing.”

“So you're attracted to him, then?” Anna countered. “And you think he's attracted to you?”

“I didn't say that! I just said - this is weird!” Meara whined. “I don’t know what’s going, and it’s making me anxious! Asil brought me home the other day - and when he walked me inside; he wasn’t flirting, but he was being Asil. Bran got territorial or something all of a sudden, and stared Asil down until he left.”

Anna would have laughed, but something bothered her about what Meara told her. She reached out with her foot and tapped her toes again Meara’s shin. “Why don’t you just talk to him? If something’s going on, he’ll probably tell you - he won’t lie, at the very least.” She suggested. “And if there’s nothing going on he won’t judge you or anything for feeling like there was.”

“But it’s -” Meara rubbed her face. “It feels so weird. Even talking to you about it feels like, inappropriate or something.” 

“I think you’re worrying too much.” Anna said, and leaned over to put her empty cup of cocoa in the sink. Meara slid off the counter to do the same. “Just relax.” 

Anna had an uneasy feeling. She waved Meara off when she left - to go see Rebecca and check up on her. The uneasy feeling didn’t go away - and then Charles called. 

“Da wants to talk to us.” He told her, before pausing. “You’re unsettled about something.” 

“It’s nothing major. I’ll tell you about it later - should I head over now?” 

“Yes.” 

* * *

Charles beat her there. She found him and Bran already in the study. The fireplace was lit. 

She kissed Charles first and then Bran’s cheek. He was sitting in front of the flames, so she had to kneel beside him. She stayed there, settling a hand on his shoulder; something was wrong.  “How bad is it?” Whatever it was, she didn’t know; all she knew was that it was upsetting Bran and after the conversation she just had with Meara, Anna’s bad feeling grew stronger. 

Bran sighed. Charles leaned his hip against the desk. “It seems Meara and I are bound with a mate bond.” Bran told them both. 

Anna stayed where she was. Charles almost looked visibly shocked. “How?” He asked. “You haven’t…”

“No.” Bran shook his head. “There was nothing before that makes me think this would possible of any typical situation. Especially with how magic and Omegas work against one another.” Then he paused, considering. “Perhaps there were a few warning signs, before I realized it. But nothing that could lead to this sort of conclusion.” 

“How long?” 

Bran shrugged. “I couldn’t pin the exact day. I just noticed after Meara got herself worked up about Everett’s witch. She’d been feeding off my own frustration and it only made her more emotional. At the moment, what’s there of the bond is barely anything. It only feeds emotion, and that could really be passed off as mood swings.” He explained. “I don’t think she’s noticed yet.”

Anna sat back on her heels. “Maybe not the bond, but she’s noticed something. She came to me today; she had concerns because you’ve been behaving differently around her since your last nightmare.” she told Bran. “And she was really put off by your reaction to Asil’s flirting.” 

Charles took a step forward. “You’ve been having dreams?” He pressed his father. 

Bran looked at Anna from the corner of his eye. “Just before Everett brought his witch.” He said. “But nothing like before - not like what I dreamt before Asil’s witch came. Old memories,” Anna’s hand was on his arm again, “from a long time ago. Before your brother pulled me from the rage.” 

Charles was silent. Listening, Anna reasoned, for the wisdom of the spirits that always spoke to him. She stood. “So what do you want to do with this, then?” She asked Bran. “With Meara and the bond.” 

Bran stared at the flames, expression focused as he thought long and hard. “I don’t quite know.” He spoke softly. “I thought that maybe with two Omegas, I might be spared the need to have another mate. And it has been working - to an extent.” 

“To an extent.” Anna agreed. Some nights, even with Meara in the house with him, he’d still come to their home and seek Anna’s calming company. She used to wake up to him sitting on the floor, situated against the foot of their bed. Now he at least kept himself to the music studio in the basement, usually settled near her cello and strumming one instrument or another. 

“Perhaps it is unavoidable.” He was muttering at Anna now - speaking out loud to job loose the problem. “I knew before that the bond was the best option I had. But even with Leah, the death had been too much - too much.”

Bran took a breath. Anna leaned closer and brushed her leg against his arm. 

“I don’t think she’d like the compromise you had with Leah.” Anna told him gently; Anna had been told everything after Leah died, in those first few horrible days when Bran nearly went mad. “I don't think she'd had like the compromise  _ for _ Leah.”

Bran made an absent noise of acknowledgement. Charles suddenly seemed to stir into focus. “You should keep her. Take her as your mate.” He told his father. 

Bran clasped his hands together and propped his elbows on his knees. “Should I?” He frowned at the fire. “And why is that?”

“You need the bond.” Charles said. “You know there's no way around it, no matter how long you push it off by clinging to Omegas. But being bonded  _ to _ an Omega could be better than anything before.”

Anna saw the logic there. She was able to affect Charles without even touching him; she had their link, and if he wasn't a world away it made what she could do more effective - but she rarely needed to do such a thing. Not with Charles.

“And think; an Omega with the Marrok’s power. All of our wolves, are kept in check by you; Anna makes the old and sick better. And she's proven first hand that an Omega with extra power is that much more.”

“You're saying taking her as my mine and having her be the Marrok’s mate would be more effective for the sake of the pack.” Bran didn't sound opposed or on board with the idea.

“Among other things.” Charles nodded.

Bran didn't speak for a moment. “I think she likes you anyways.” Anna tacked on. “And it's becoming obvious you're fond of her.”

Bran closed his eyes. “That would be the heart of the problem.”

* * *

Meara sneezed.

“Someone’s talking about you.” Rebecca said. Daniel snorted. “Hogwash. Superstition.” He told her, watching Dexter move a pawn forward. Meara rubbed her nose on her sleeve and frowned at the chess board. 

“Superstition - you’re talking about superstition when you’re all a bunch of werewolves and you’re sitting next to a witch.” Rebecca challenged, nudging him with her elbow. Her confidence had spiked over the past few weeks, and despite the fact that she was still rather quiet and reserved, she had a playfulness with the rest of them. 

Meara cautiously moved her bishop. Dexter just grinned at her, drumming his fingers on his cane. “Fair enough - but sneezing because someone’s chatting about you?” Daniel shrugged. “Seems outlandish, even for this.” 

Jonah carried in a tray of drinks. “You should be more open to the possibilities.” He chastised his son, before handing the girls their cups. He gently set Dexter’s cup on the table beside his recliner and sitting beside Daniel on the couch. “Who do you think it chatting about you?” He asked Meara. 

She shrugged, watching with a sigh of defeat as Dexter knocked out one of her knights. “Probably Anna. I stopped by to talk to her today, before coming here.” She attempted to gain footage with her rook, but in the next move Dexter killed her other bishop. “She’s probably just telling Charles about it.” 

“What did you talk about?”

Meara’s cheeks went red at the thought. “Girl stuff. None of your business.” She said. Jonah laughed and Daniel rolled his eyes. Rebecca just raised a brow. 

“Ah, young love - I know what that looks like.” Dexter laughed, before killing Meara’s king and winning the game. She sat back in defeat. “Stuff it.” She mumbled. 

Jonah sat back with Dexter as Meara and Daniel cleaned up the chessboard and Daniel started his own match against Rebecca on the floor. “What do you think, pops?” Dexter asked, when Meara stepped out of the room. He spoke softly, in an attempt to keep Meara from hearing. “Think it’s the big bad boss?”

Jonah leaned closer to his old, frail son and smiled. “It could be the Moor. I’d think someone like him would jump at the chance to court an Omega.” He told him. 

“I’ll bet’cha fifty.” Dexter grinned. 

“I’ll see that bet.” 

Meara sneezed again from the kitchen. Jonah and Dexter laughed. 

The radio played softly in the background. Between songs, the radio host gave an announcement. “If anyone has any information on the whereabouts of 13 year old Cassandra Delrosa, please call Montana state police. Cassandra went missing three days ago from her mother’s home in Missoula, reportedly sometime in the night…”


	9. Chapter 9

“...makes Jennifer Rowley the twenty-eighth person to disappear in the last two weeks, since 13 year Cassandra Delrosa went missing in Montana. Originally investigators saw no correlation, but the FBI has now taken over each disappearance and has turned them into one investigation. Cantrip’s participation in this now federal investigation has led some to fear the fae are responsible for these…”

Meara reached over Kara and changed the channel to something - anything - else. “Bleck. That will sour breakfast.” She told her. “Watch some cartoons or something.”

“I only _look_ ten.” Kara snapped back. Meara shrugged with a smile. “I was watching cartoons even in college. They’re great.”

Kara made a face. Meara grinned and returned to the kitchen.

It was Sunday morning - and Bran was expecting his oldest son, Samuel, any moment. Anna and Charles were there, and they were finishing preparing a feast of a breakfast. Meara was sort of excited to meet Charles’s older brother; apparently he was the social one of the two, and had a wicked sense of humor.

Bran was excited too. Not in any way she could see; it was something she knew in her gut, when she looked at him. She still felt weird about the way things were changing - evolving felt more suitable a term - between them. It was absolutely something more intimate; that much was obvious now. But she still couldn’t pin what was going on.

Kara followed after her to the kitchen and helped her carry the glasses to the dining room. “Do you think it’s actually the fae?” She asked Meara, glancing at her from the corner of her eye. Meara made herself busy, situating the plates and napkins, and arranging a small bundle of roses Asil had gifted her two days ago.

“I don’t know.” Meara said absently. She’d been trying to ignore the recent disappearances. The thought of them left a sour taste on her tongue. “If it is, they’re being stupid.” She frowned at the glass she put in place. It wasn’t the fae.

Bran carried in a platter of condiments, setting the in the center of the table. “Don't worry yourselves over this business.” He told the girls. “Humans go missing every day. I don't think the fae would do something this reckless.”

“But Cantrip is investigating.” Kara said.

“The FBI is investigating. Cantrip happens to have resources they'd like to use.” Bran told her. “Don't fret.”

Meara leaned on the chair next to him, smiling. “You seem to say that a lot, at least to me.” She teased. “Maybe I'm more high strung then I thought I was.”

“You are driven to protect yours. Sometimes that makes you fret.” He told her. “Young alphas tend to act in a similar manner. It doesn't take long to learn to relax.”

She stepped closer. “And how long did it take you - the big bad Marrok?” She asked, voice going a little softer.

Oh; was she flirting?

“I was already very old when we came to the New World.” He told her, leaning one arm on the back of another chair. “I didn't have to worry like that.”

“You and Asil are always complaining about how old you are. Maybe we should build our very own werewolf nursing home.” Meara countered.

Kara snorted. “I’m pretty sure Aspen Creek _is_ a werewolf nursing home.” She mumbled, stepping out of the dining room. Meara grinned at Bran, and he smiled back - but there was something soft in his eyes that made her toes tingle. He reached and brushed her hair behind her ear, and his fingers lingered on her skin for a moment.

The door opened.

“Samuel!” Anna called, first to greet him. She hugged him and took his bag. “Just in time. Bran’s just finished the pancakes - he made chocolate chip this time.”

“Oh, good.” Samuel was taller than Charles, making both sons taller than their father. Meara found that amusing - Bran was the most powerful wolf in probably the world and here he had two sons who basically towered over him.

Samuel’s eyes settled on Meara when she slipped out of the dining room ahead of Bran, who returned to the kitchen. He smiled warmly and she smiled back. “You must be Meara.” He said, offering his hand. It was warm and gentle; a doctor’s hands. “Samuel. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” She spoke softly; she was being _shy_ , which he found amusing. “Charles has told me horrible stories.”

Samuel laughed. “I’m sure he has!”

She let Samuel go to the kitchen, where he hugged his brother and father. It made something warm pool in Meara’s chest when she watched. Something tender and sad. She missed her family.

Bran flipped the last pancake before it burned. “Why don’t we all get settled, then?” he smiled.

The men ended up carrying everything before the ladies could get to them, so they settled and helped arrange and serve the food out. Bran sat at the head of the table, Charles and Anna to his right respectively. Samuel sat to his left, and Meara sat between Samuel and Kara.

Bran had made pancakes for her plenty of times before, but these tasted better somehow. Sunday breakfast was something his family did often; but only once or twice since she’d been here did he host it in his house. Usually he went to Charles and Anna’s.

Samuel spoke mostly; filling in them on the time he’d been gone. Apparently the last time Samuel was around was three years ago - from what Anna and the other pack members had told her, that was when Bran’s mate had died.

He had spent some time doing humanitarian work across the congo, then he and his wife traveled all over. His wife, who had not come to visit because she had a fear of canids and Aspen Creek would be too much for her, was fae.

“Your wife is fae?” Kara couldn’t help but pipe up. Samuel nodded. “We met a long time ago, but only recently found each other once more. This time I decided not to let her go again.” He said, and there was both affection and sadness in his voice.

“That sounds romantic.” Kara sighed, and Meara almost choked on her pancake. “Thinking about romance of late, Kara?” She teased. Kara elbowed her. Meara just grinned and continued to eat her breakfast.

Samuel went back to chatting. When breakfast was done, Meara and Anna led the cleanup charge. Which left Samuel and Charles to follow their father into the study. Kara went back to the television after helping clear the table and put away the leftovers.

Meara ignored the news. They were still talking about the disappearances. It made her back itch.

* * *

Samuel liked Meara.

“She’s sweet.” He told his father, when Charles closed the door. Bran slouched back into his chair and propped his feet up on his desk, moving slowly like he was old and worn. “And she seems smart.”

“It doesn’t change - or help - the problem.” Bran said tiredly.

“Doesn’t it?” Samuel understood, better than Charles did or anyone else, because he’d stood with his da through all of it. “Why not take her as your mate? Why not keep the Omega? If you’re held up over caring about her, you’ve already learned it makes no difference. You didn’t love Leah - you didn’t even like Leah, but when she died it nearly killed you as it did the first time.”

Bran gave a frustrated sigh. He’d been thinking it over, long and hard these past two weeks since his conversation with Anna and Charles; and his sons were right, in all honesty. The benefits quite obviously outweighed the problems, but that didn’t change the fact that the problems were massive risks.

And he _was_ fond of the Omega. Her presence didn’t just soothe him because of what she was. Everything about her was drawing him, and he felt almost stupid to not notice those first few weeks since he’d brought her here. From her smile to the way she spoke, Bran felt like he’d caught his leg in an old, rusted hunting trap.

He couldn’t afford the love; the risk to he and his was too great.

“Even if it was, you know you will never regain the control you once had without the bond.” Samuel said. Bran didn’t realize he’d spoken that last bit to the pair of them. “Even if the two Omegas came and sat and pet your hand every day, you’ll break sooner than later.” Samuel spoke sadly now, and there was something pleading in his eyes. Charles was not nearly as expressive as his brother.

Samuel looked as worn as Bran felt. “Keeping her as yours is far safer than any other option. Your fears of losing her won’t come to light - not if you keep her safe. She’s not Leah and she’s not Charles’s mother.” The mention stung as it always did, even if Samuel left her name out of his mouth.

“My fear would be the last thing I felt before it all came to an end if she is lost.” Bran didn’t fear loving her or even her death; what he feared was the way he would break afterwards. There would be no saving him from the beast and the rage this time, not even if Anna sang her songs. If Bran took Meara as his mate, and she should die, that would be the end of all of them.

Because Bran was a very good monster - there were no survivors last time. There would be less than that this time.

Charles had been silent. He’d hoped Samuel would be enough to fully convince their father, and he was beginning to see the small signs that it was working.

“If you keep putting off the choice like this, da, the bond will just get stronger.” Charles added. “You need to decide sooner than later.”

“Yes, yes.” Bran rubbed his face. Despite being their alpha, he took their lecture rather well. It was the wholesome and willing trust that he had in them. Trust that they would help him when he needed it - even if that meant killing him when he broke.

“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to such a thing.” Bran said, after a long moment. “She is much more hard-headed than she seems.”

“I heard about her yelling at you.” Samuel grinned, and the mood lightened slightly. “Good. You need that.”

They heard something sharp from kitchen; a sneeze, and then something glass or porcelain breaking. Meara’s cry of pain, shrill and almost a whine, carried through into the study; laughter followed. Bran didn’t hear the laugh, because his study door slammed open hard enough to mask it as he stormed past.

Anna was laughing - full bellied and hunched over laughed - at Meara.

She’d sneezed, hard and sudden, and she’d dropped the plate she’d been drying on her foot. It shattered and stabbed into the top of her foot and into her ankle, and the rest of the shards scattered over the floor.

“FUCK!” Meara yelled involuntarily, picking her bleeding foot up. “Fuck, fuck man! Augh, stop laughing Anna, christ almighty!” She propped the foot against the sink and struggled to pluck the shards out before they healed over and trapped them under the skin.

Anna stifled small giggles and swept up the rest of the shards.   
Bran was there first, taking in the scene before visibly reacting. “How did you drop it?” Samuel asked, peering over his father’s shoulder with a half smile.

Meara pointed to her foot and wagged a finger, calling him over. “I sneezed.” She ground out, lips pouting and brows furrowed.

Samuel chuckled, and she smacked his arm. “Be a doctor! Check my foot!” She ordered, voice half a whine. She was embarrassed, but the humor didn’t seem lost on her.

Samuel quickly plucked the rest of the small pieces out for her and pat her foot clean with wet paper towels. Bran leaned back against the doorway, arms crossed - he was trying to calm down. Meara’s sudden pain had hit him seconds after her cry, and he’d almost broken open his door to get to her.

Meara looked over her shoulder, frowning slightly. “Sorry.” She said suddenly, looking at Bran. “I broke your plate.”

“It’s just a plate.” He said shortly.

“Sorry about shrieking too.” She said, softer - knowing that he had been brought in by that. Something cool washed over Samuel’s - the nearest and touching her - skin, a power like water. She was extending her reach, perhaps involuntarily; she looked sheepishly at her foot against the counter. “My feet are sensitive.”

Samuel and Anna looked at Bran before glancing at each other.

* * *

Samuel was staying for a little while. He was in the guest room beside Kara and he liked to wake up early every morning.

Meara liked Samuel. He told jokes and teased and seemed all around more relaxed than any of his family - even the ever-cool Bran.

He didn’t like what happened to her. “Jethro was a good man. And he was a smart man - but he was selfish.” He told her, sitting with her and Devon one day in the library. “He used you and what you were because he didn’t want to die.” And he looked physically upset at the notion.

“I know.” She was pinned on the floor under a calm Devon, so all she could do was reached across the loveseat and touch his knee. “I forgave him a while ago. I understand why he did it, and it was selfish.”

“That doesn’t make this right.” He spoke softly.

She smiled. “Nothing could. But that’s OK.”

There was a sadness about Samuel that if she didn’t know he was Bran’s son, she’d think he was older. It was the same sad way Jethro would be, on his better days.

But he wasn't going to break anytime soon. Her gut told her he was safer than any of them at the moment. He had an immortal fae wife to go back to. He had a mate that he’d waited a long time for and he had no plans on abandoning her anytime soon.

“Samuel doesn’t like me, but that’s because he is smart and old.” Asil said, when she came to visit him the next day. “He is good company, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” She smiled, and he handed her a jar of rose heads - which spoke volumes about what she meant to him, because Asil seldom cut the blooms from his precious roses. “Not as good company as myself.” He told her. She laughed. “No, I don’t think anyone is as good company as you.” She teased, kneeling and setting the jar next to Devon where he curled up under the far table. “Except Devon, of course.” She stroked his muzzle affectionately, smiling at the old, thin wolf.

“Or perhaps Bran?” Asil’s tone was different.

She peered at him over her shoulder, frowning. “I guess.” She said cautiously. He was looking at her with half a smile, half something that made her uncomfortable. She couldn't think of the word for it. “What? What’s that look about?”

“How fond are you of our alpha?” He asked, leaning back in the chair he kept at the center table, where he did most of his delicate work.

She stayed kneeling beside Devon. “That’s a weird question.” She wove her fingers into Devon’s fur. “As fond as any of the rest of you. He’s taken care of me. He’s offered me a home, given me anything I needed, and he’s helped me start to really understand myself. He’s given me a new chance.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are grateful.” He waved a dismissive hand. “But that doesn’t mean you like him because you thank him. How do you feel about him?”

She frowned at him and stood. “You’ve been talking to Anna.” She said, accusingly. “Haven’t you?”

“And if I have?” He said cooly. “Are you attracted to the Marrok? Have you had any sort of desire for him-”

She threw the nearest thing, a pot, and he caught it before it broke. “Don’t be rude!” She snapped. “That’s none of your business!” Now she knew the word. A smirk.

“I can understand having some sort of attraction.” He ignored her and kept talking. “Of course, he is not as handsome as I am, but Bran has a certain -”

“Ugh! Asil, shut up!” She put her hands over her ears. “Don’t talk like that! That’s gross!”

Devon sat up. Asil held up his hands in a show of peace. “No offense intended, mi sirenita.” He called her that after he saw the tattoos on her legs, when she wore a dress and the wind pushed it too high. “I only ask because I find myself caring about the future you have.”

She gave him a look that crossed between a scowl and a pout. “I don’t know how to answer the first question.” She admitted after a moment. “I don’t know how I feel. It’s hard to know how I’m feeling sometimes.”

He settled his hands in his, and Devon laid his head back on his paws. “What do you mean?”

She nudged some dying leaves with her boots. “I don’t know. It’s been like that for a long time. I just never know how I really feel about people - like I know I care about all of you and I love you bunch of jerks like family. But I can’t tell how I feel about Bran sometimes.”

She sat back on the ground and tucked her knees against her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. “I’m worried about him a lot. His job sucks. He takes on so much stress and he’s always working himself over something. And I know it bothers him and drains him; I know it. I can feel it when I look at him, in my gut.”

Asil frowned. Bran had spoken to him, briefly, about mate bonds and Omegas. Had asked him about how he and Sarai had met and anything he knew about the way the magic worked around an Omega. Asil managed to get out of him something about Meara being involved, but Bran told him not to worry - and that he would know sooner or later.

Asil leaned forward, frowning at her. Was Bran looking to bond with this child - this lonely little girl who was barely older than little Kara? She was doe-eyed and naive, and Asil wondered why Bran would even consider such a thing.

Well, that wasn’t true. He knew why he would consider. And perhaps at another time Asil would have pursued her just the same. Omega aside, the young wolf was intelligent and had a wisdom to her; and she was beautiful, with her youthful features and wild curves. She reminded him of Sarai in many ways - many more that made him sad.

Asil decided he'd ask his alpha sooner instead of later.

“That’s weird, right? It’s so weird.” She rubbed her cheeks.

“It’s not ‘weird’, mi sirenita.” He murmured. “Trust your instincts.”

“Bran says that a lot.” She muttered, before sighing and stretching her legs out. She laid one arm across Devon’s shoulders and leaned against the table. “Ugh. Bleh. My brain hurts again. Thanks for that.”

He chuckled. “Apologies.”

She took the jar of roses home and set it on her bedside table, leaving the lid on tight. When she went to bed, she watched the moonlight stream through the glass, forming patterns across the petals.

* * *

Bran’s hands ran up Meara’s sides. He silently leaned over her, pressing kisses against her skin and pushing apart her knees. She could only make soft sounds of pleasure, throat tight as the rest of her felt. His hands ghosted over her breast as his hips slid between her thighs and he pleasured her-

Meara woke up.

She swallowed thickly and turned in her bed, frowning to herself. What was that? Did she just have a _wet dream_ about _Bran_? She didn't know what bothered her most about that; the fact that she dreamed about having sex with Bran or that she had a dream at all? She hadn’t had a real, honest-to-god dream of her own since she was fifteen.

For a tense moment, she recalled the fact that she'd seen glimpses of the nightmares Bran had been having. She felt her face go hot at the notion as she folded her pillow over her head and tried not to think about the fact that the room stank of her arousal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got my wisdom teeth removed yesterday, so I didn't know if I was gonna post lol! Lucky for all of us I write these chapters way in advanced and edit them early on, too.


	10. Chapter 10

“The fae approached Adam about the disappearances.” Samuel said, as he helped his father make breakfast.

Bran raised an eyebrow at him. Adam Hauptman was the Alpha of the Columbia Basin pack - a pack that Bran had to severe from his own some three or more years ago when Mercy and Adam declared their territory a supernatural sanctuary. They had done so to spite the fae and protect a little boy - who was only a little boy in appearance - with a gift from Underhill. Rather, the fae manipulated them into doing so.

The fae had declared themselves sovereign from the United States some years prior to that. They had thought they could just retreat Underhill - but Underhill was angry with them. She rejected the fae and so, they were stuck. Stuck in a world of humans that was hostile to their people; half the Grey Lords wanted war. The few who didn’t needed desperately a way out. Adam had been their way out.

Bran still hated that fact. That the fae had used one of his and forced him to abandon them - to abandon his daughter, Mercy - in avoidance of a war. It had taken him a long while to smooth out an agreement with the fae, and that only made the already there tensions thicker.

“What did they have to say?” Bran asked calmly. They were making omelets. Kara had come down to join them, but Meara had not yet.

“They claim none of theirs have been responsible for any of them.” Samuel told him. “They had some fears about outside forces. They mentioned that one of the missing people was half-fae, with just enough magic to be a threat to a human.”

Bran considered that for a moment. “What did Adam say?”

Samuel smiled. “Well, Mercy pointed out that a fae could still be responsible without the Grey Lords knowing. And Adam asked why they were trying to get him involved.” Samuel said. “He told them ‘I've finally had a full year of peace and you come to spoil it for me’.”

Bran smiled. Adam had always been one of his favored, most trusted alphas. The man was young, compared to some of his other alphas. But he was wise and took care of those he viewed as his.

Meara padded down the stairs. She yawned, smiled at them - and then made a strange face at Bran. She abruptly looked away from him. She snagged a glass of water, and retreated to the living room where Kara watched the morning report. Bran frowned at the back of her cardigan. Her ears were red. What was she embarrassed about?

Something flashed in his memories, something that made him blink.

“The fae want Adam to keep an ear out and help in the event that the humans start rallying against them. He didn't agree or refuse, but he's definitely got concerns about this whole ordeal.” Samuel was watching her leave, too, so he'd noticed it as well. Except instead of frowning, he looked amused.

Bran folded another omelet. “Not my business yet, then.” He said.

* * *

Meara couldn't help but feel embarrassed when she first scented Bran, much less saw him in the kitchen. She quickly got herself water before retreating to the living room and putting Kara between her and the door.

Kara glanced at her. “Morning.” She said, looking back to the news.

“Morning.” Meara murmured back. “Why do you always watch the news?”

“I like knowing what's going on.” Kara answered.

Meara took a sip of her drink and set the glass on the coffee table. “Eh. The news is always so sad, though. Always talking about accidents or bad politics or disappearing people…” She trailed off, leaning back and crossing her arms. The news was talking about two more missing people. A mid-twenties college student from Nebraska, who was last seen at his job in the food court at the local shopping mall. The other missing person was a college professor from Florida.

Meara stood.

They were showing the photograph of an older man. He had the look you'd expect of an old viking, with braids in his long, grey beard and in his hair. His blue eyes were wide and wild looking, like he'd seen too much in his time to be sane.

“Sixty-four year old college professor, Doctor Eric Jorgensen was last seen at his local pharmacy, adding to the number of missing persons in the FBI’s investigation.” The news anchor said in a dead voice. Meara stood and stepped closer to the screen, frowning.

“Doctor Jorgenson is reportedly an oddity in the case, despite there being no connecting factors between the missing people. He went to the police station two weeks ago and claimed that he would be the next victim in the ‘recent kidnappings’ and asked to be arrested, so that he would be safe in prison.”

“Did you know him?” Kara asked, frowning. Meara nodded absently. “His daughter was a year older than me. We were friends. I ended up taking some college classes while I was still in high school, in this dual-enrollment program. Took his mythology courses. Everyone always thought he was crazy because he would talk about all sorts of supernatural stuff that wasn’t in the curriculum. He told us about werewolves before they - we - were out.” She crossed her arms. “Liked to talk about the fae and aliens. Always told me I had a good head on my shoulders.”

“He sounds like a fun guy.” Kara said absently, tilting her head as she watched Meara.

“He wasn’t. His daughter was, though. He’d always been like that. I just can’t believe he’d go missing like this.” She felt the shivers start in her back, like muscle spasms and chills. “He had...there was this thing about him. He always knew more than he should.”

She remembered her last class with him - he stopped her, when everyone else had walked out of the room and left. He’d thrown his hands on her shoulders and pulled her from the door with a wild look in his eyes. She’d thought she was going to have to hurt him; thought he was going to do something horrible to her when he started crying.

 _Poor you, sweet little thing,_ he’d wept, looking old and frail, _poor thing who has been touched by things beyond your understanding. You bring smiles to sad faces, but who brings a smile to yours?_

She wrapped her arms around herself.

“Everything alright?”

Bran was watching her, standing behind the couch. She looked back at him, unable to make her smile look more than sad. “Yeah. I’m just a little shocked. I haven’t thought about anyone from before in a long time. I didn’t expect this.” She said, rubbing her arms. “I guess it’s sad.”

Bran stepped around the couch and put a hand on her elbow. “Understandable.” He said, voice soft. She leaned towards his touch, the warmth of his hand. His fingers pressed into her arm just enough to give an impression of something tender. It made her toes tingle, her heart skip a beat - and something else, that she missed when it happened.

She had flashes of the dream - of skin on skin and the imaginary feeling of hands where hands had never gone before. Her cheeks felt hot suddenly, but she forced herself not to lurch away. She forced the smile to stay.

 _Be cool, dammit,_ she told herself.

“I hope one of those omelets are for me - otherwise I’m stealing yours.” She told him lightly.

He smiled back. “There’s plenty for everyone.”

She led the way to the kitchen; he followed, flexing the fingers that touched her. He recalled a thought, or a dream, when those fingers had been on softer, warmer flesh.

Oh. Now he remembered. Did she share _that_ dream, just like she shared nightmares?

Bran smiled at her back. _Woops._

* * *

Meara pulled herself together.

She was going to talk to Bran. It was bothering her to no end, the way things seemed different between them. She didn't _mind_ the differences themselves. She sort of...she liked it, the way he touched her and looked at her. She liked the feeling of affection - the intimacy. But she knew that something had changed to cause it; and she also knew that these changes left a lot of implications in the air.

She tied her hair in a ponytail, knowing now would be better than never. Kara had gone to visit Asil - Meara hadn't realized it was even summer vacation - and Samuel was visiting some friends in town. So it was just her and Bran - who was in his study.

He'd left the door open. She took a breath and walked straight in. Even if he didn’t say anything or acknowledge her, she knew he was fully aware of her presence. He seemed to be focused on his computer, typing something at a furiously rapid pace that would have made her mother - a typist and an auditor in her time - proud.

She closed the door.

“I need to talk to you.” She said, standing with her hands clasped behind her back. It was to hide how they fumbled and wiggled, her nervous habit.

He looked up. Bran’s poker face was better than hers, that was certain. He set aside his laptop and closed it. “Nothing too bad, I'd hope.” He said, sounding pleasant, at least. He glanced at the chair in front of his desk.

Meara didn't sit. She was too nervous. “I don't know.” She admitted.

He waited.

“Something...changed. With the way you act around me and treat me.” She said, not quite looking at him. She focused on the desk; it was too embarrassing to look him in the eye. “It's not a bad change. You've been more….” She didn’t want to say _intimate_ , for fear of embarrassing herself. “I don't know, intense? I mean, you're always pretty intense. But recently, it’s been a different sort of intense, and directed at me. I know I'm not just like thinking this is happening. I've been trying to pay attention, and it's definitely happening. It wasn’t happening...before.”

She rubbed her arm, trying not to look as awkward as she was feeling. She still couldn't look at him. “It doesn’t bother me. The changes and stuff - that's not what's bugging me. I...I don't know if I did something. Or if something happened; and if something _did_ happen, I can’t tell if it’s good or bad, and that makes me...unsure. Nervous.”

And she finally looked at him, pressing her lips together in hopes that she didn't just embarrass herself completely. He had his fingers woven together and his elbows propped on the table in that silent, thoughtful way as he looked at her.

Damn his poker face.

“Something did change.” Bran said, after a long moment. “But I'm still not sure if it's something you did. And I don't know if it's good or bad.”

Oh. Some small part of Meara wished that she'd been crazy, and that he would have just dismissed her with no concerns. Suddenly she felt very...exposed? Maybe vulnerable? Or just confused? There was a feeling she couldn’t quite name.

“Should I...is there any way I can help?” She asked, voice soft. He stood. She felt the sudden urge to back away when he stepped around his desk and came closer, but she kept her feet firmly locked in place.

He was examining her. Looking for something in her face. She looked up and met his eyes - and something in her wanted to cry for him. His eyes, so warm and hazel, looked so sad. She could see something hurting him, deep down and buried. She could sense it in no other way, but she knew it was there.

Her hand brushed the side of his jaw before she realized what she was doing. He smiled, softly, and took her hand in his. “I don't know yet. I'm still trying to figure this out.” He said, voice soft and almost husky. She wrapped her hand around his fingers.

“You'll tell me when you do, right?” She asked. “When you figure it out?”

Bran held her hand for a moment, before carefully pulling it up and kissing her palm. “I will.” He told her, releasing her fingers.

Meara peered up at him, doe - eyed but thoughtful. She clasped her hands together. “Alright.” She said at last. “I'm sorry I bothered you.”

“You could never bother me.”

She smiled, and surprised them both. She stood up on her tiptoes and pulled his collar so he stooped low that she could kiss his cheek - just on the corner of his mouth. “You're sweet - but I know being annoying is one of my specialities.” And then she whisked herself from his study before she could register with herself what she'd just done.

Bran touched where she'd kissed. His chest ached a little, in the place where the tenderness had welled when she touched him. It seemed the decision had finally been made - but for him.

* * *

Meara ended up leaving the house, the crushing embarrassment too much for her to stay. She went to Jonah’s house and figured she'd distract herself with them.

“Your timing is impeccable.” Jonah was in the living room, his eyes pale blue and a frown on his face. He was holding his cell phone tightly in one hand. “I was just about to call for Charles.”

“What's wrong?” She peered around the house. It smelled strange - like the scent that clung to Rebecca underneath the scent of werewolf. Bran had told her that strange smell was magic, and that she should always be cautious when she could smell it. And there was a noise - some sort of scraping,  buzzing sound from deep within the house.

“Rebecca took a nap and is having some sort of fit. I think it's a nightmare.” Jonah led her up the stairs and to the room he put Rebecca in. Daniel and Dexter were nowhere to be seen. “My sons have gone to fetch groceries. This happened immediately after.” He said.

Rebecca’s door was open. Jonah stopped short of it. “Every attempt I've made at waking her has failed. I even resorted to throwing water on her, and there was some sort of defense. The water was steam before it even touched her. Be careful, she's throwing magic about.”

He gestured. Meara hesitated, before taking two steps into the room.

The air felt so heavy Meara had to pause to breathe. Every piece of furniture was buzzing like a phone on vibrate - they shifted across the floor like there was an earthquake. Jonah stepped in after her and wrapped a protective hand around her arm. “I'm going to call Charles.” He told her.

She didn't look at him. “Not yet - let me see if I can wake her up.”

“I was told to call Charles should any issues arise.” Jonah countered. His fingers fiddled over his phone.

Meara turned and frowned at him. “Give me one chance. Then you can call Charles.” She said, softly. “This isn’t an issue, it’s just a bad dream and people lash out when they have bad dreams. I kicked my mom in the face once.” She smiled.

Jonah gave a huff after a moment. “One chance.” He mumbled. “Be quick. Before you get me in trouble.”

Rebecca looked like she was in pain. She was curled on one side and her eyes were screwed shut. Her fists clenched the pillows tightly. Her skin was ghostly pale and she was crying; the tears stained the sheets and made the smell of sorrow almost as strong as the magic.

Meara went to the bed, and Jonah followed, hand still firmly wrapped around her arm. She made him stand to the side and she put one knee on the bed and put both hands over one of Rebecca’s fists. “Rebecca.” She cooed, as the coolness washed through her and into the other girl. “Rebecca, wake up.” She pooled her power, pushing it forward like Anna had told her. She let it fill every inch of the room, coaxing it over Rebecca’s shivering form. Jonah sighed heavily behind her.

The skin on her back was buzzing like the rest of the room. Meara blinked, and suddenly, she was kneeling in black murk. The room was gone; everything was pitch black and lifeless.

Rebecca was tangled in the numerous arms of a naked woman, who towered well over ten feet tall. She was a beautiful, beautiful woman, with rich, dark hair and glowing features. She had a scarlet smile as she stroked Rebecca’s hair in an almost motherly manner.

Rebecca looked terrified. She was crying silently and stayed very, very still, letting the women pet her as she did. She sniffled every now and then, and the woman made a cooing noise that sounded like her voice had been filtered to the lowest octave possible, then layered several times over with every other octave above that.

Rebecca spotted Meara just after the woman did. “Ah,” The woman breathed, and Meara felt like her bones were trembling under her black gaze. “The little wolf you hoped for has come for you, my child.” She spoke to Rebecca.

Rebecca reached one hand towards Meara. “But I shall not give her what is mine.” The woman continued, taking Rebecca’s reaching hand with three extra, ghostly hands. “So she may leave us.”

Meara felt something push against her, forcing her two steps backwards. The human in her wanted to leave, to find a way to flee this place and get somewhere safe. Her wolf raged at the notion of abandoning Rebecca to this creature.

The skin of her back burned now. She stood her ground and sloshed forward three steps.

The woman looked back to Meara, her smile gone. “Oh?” She clutched Rebecca with a myriad of hands now. “How strange. Something that resists me.” The woman flicked a forked, serpentine tongue.

“Just -” speaking hurt, made her throat burn, “- let her go. Let Rebecca go.”

The woman’s eyes went wide. “Oh, I know _you_!” She laughed, and suddenly she loomed over Meara. Rebecca was still wrapped in the ghostly arms and hands, a few feet away.

“I've had an itch to meet you.” Her hands reached for Meara’s face, but stopped short. “You're something of an anomaly. Tell me, did you choose to become a wolf?”

“Let Rebecca go.” Meara said, voice clear despite the way her hands trembled from fear.

“She has always been mine. From before she was born.” The woman purred. She looked like she really wanted to touch Meara, but something kept her hands at bay. Maybe fear. Maybe she was just smarter than that.

“You can't keep her in here forever.” Meara muttered, looking at Rebecca. “Let her go. At least for now - let her wake up.”

Rebecca looked at Meara with wide, tearful eyes. The woman sighed. “Oh, fine.” She flicked her wrist and Rebecca was gone, leaving the two of them standing in sludge.

Meara swallowed. “What do you mean she's yours?” She asked, cautious.

The woman stepped around her, making a humming noise as she went to stand behind Meara. “Her blood.” She purred, reaching for the back of Meara’s shirt. “It was made mine generations ago. She carries that piece of me in her.”

Meara blinked, stepping away before the woman could touch her. “A piece of you?”

The woman stood straight. “You didn't think I was here in whole, did you?” She cackled. “My poor little witch would shatter. The earth would tremble with my very breath were the pieces of me together and united.”

Something whispered in the back of Meara’s mind, something dark and unheard for a long time. “Yidhra.” She whispered.

“Ah, so he speaks secrets to you.” The fragment of Yidhra purred. “Show me his mark. I am so terribly curious, you see. There are conflicting tales as to what purpose you serve. Chaos doesn’t often pity you mortals.” She reached again. Meara dodged her grasp, feeling sick suddenly. “No, no.” She sounded strange to herself. Her words were slurred. “Don’t - don’t touch me.”

Yidhra laughed, and Meara had to put her hands on either side of her head; it felt like everything was splitting open, her bones were cracking, her eyes were bleeding.

“I see. Poor little wolf whelp.” Yidhra seemed to sink into the sludge. “I will watch, little one. I'd love to see what you do next.”

Meara struggled to breathe as the sludge started to rise. The piece of Yidhra got uglier and uglier the deeper she sank, the lovely maid becoming an old hag before her flesh seemed to rot away in a disgusting display. “Till next time, little whelp.” Yidhra’s horrible echoes were monstrous and nauseating.

Meara sank into the sludge, until her breath left her and everything was black.

* * *

She gasped, sitting upright.

Someone grabbed her shoulders as she gasped for breath; her hands trembled as they wrapped around the wrist of whoever was holding her. Her vision swam and she felt nauseas, her body feeling awkward and clammy. “Breathe.” She heard, but her ears were ringing, so she couldn’t make out who it was.

She put her shaking hands over her eyes, rubbing her face and attempting to calm herself. The stink of her fear was filling the room and it was making her feel claustrophobic. Soft, small hands touched her back, and cold waves of magic pushed the fear away. Meara’s breathing slowed; her hands stopped shaking.

Jonah was holding her. His eyes were bright with his wolf, and she could smell his anger - and his fear. Rebecca leaned away, removing her hand from her back. She scampered off the other side of the bed and pressed herself against the far wall.

“What…” Meara’s mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. “What happened?” She was sitting on the floor, propped against the side of Rebecca’s bed.

“You touched her, and you fainted. I called Charles - he and Bran are almost here - and he said Rebecca’s magic might have pulled your mind in as a defense mechanism.” His voice was rough, like he was fighting to smother his anger. She still held his wrist, but she was so shaken she could only sit there and hold his arm.

“Rebecca woke a few minutes ago.” He said. She reached and took his other hand and attempted to calm herself. “I’ve been trying to rouse you - but you wouldn’t respond. You felt so cold.”

“I’m OK.” She whispered, and cringed at how heavy the lie felt on her tongue. “Maybe I’m not - but I’ll be alright. Eventually.” She corrected.

Rebecca cracked. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered; she had a horrified expression on her face, and tears started streaking down her cheeks. She didn’t seem frightened - just disturbed. “I don’t remember what happened. I don’t know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything.” Meara told her. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

She started to stand, and Jonah carefully set his arm under hers to support her. “I’ll be fine in a moment.” She told him, sitting on the edge of the bed. She tried to remember what she had seen. She got sucked in, but what happened after she touched Rebecca was a blank slate. Something horrible, horrible enough to make her shiver and shake like she’d seen the eyes of death itself.

And then Bran was there. The pale gold leached through the hazel in his eyes as he stepped briskly into the room and put one hand on Meara’s shoulder. She sucked in a breath. “Rebecca didn’t hurt me - I’m not hurt.” She said quickly.

“What _happened._ ” He said, tone short and clipped. He didn’t looking at anyone else in the room. Jonah bowed his head and Rebecca struggled to stand, tipping her head down and offering her throat. While he was very good at keeping his anger in check, and his power was held tightly in, it was still obvious he was highly displeased.

Meara was calmer now, so at least she helped a little when she wrapped her fingers around his.

“I told Jonah not to call Charles.” She said, before Jonah could breathe a word, because she knew Bran would be pissed about that. She didn’t want him angry at Jonah. “I didn’t think this was something like that. She was having a nightmare.”

“Jonah said you fainted as soon as you touched her.” Charles said from the doorway.

“I think she pulled me in by accident. Maybe she thought I could help her. She was afraid.”

Bran’s fingers dug into her shoulder. “Accident.” He said softly. The gold faded and let the hazel come back.

“I think it was my wolf.” Rebecca whispered. Bran didn't look at her; probably for the best, as she quivered with fear when she caught scent of him.

“Your wolf?” Charles moved and put himself between his father and Rebecca, recognizing that the situation was not as bad as they'd been planning.

“I feel...when she touched me, the wolf knew she could help, and it pulled on her power. But my magic, it pulled too hard, and it drew her mind into the nightmare with me.” She explained softly. “She still managed to wake me up.”

Charles looked at his father. No one spoke for a moment.

Meara pulled on Bran’s hand, and he helped her stand. She smiled softly at Rebecca. “Are you Ok?” She asked her; her legs ached and shook, showing she was still shaken from whatever it was that happened. Bran tightly put his hand on her arm, holding her steady.

“I’m...I’m not sure.” Rebecca said carefully. “I don’t remember what it was about. It scared - I’m still scared of it. But I'm in control of myself.”

With that - and confirmation from Charles that she wasn't at risk of losing control of her magic anytime soon - Bran took Meara and left Charles to tend to anything else.

Meara still felt nauseous. Bran drove her home - Charles and Jonah promise to drop off her car later. She sat in the passenger seat and turned the air vent so the cold air blasted her in the face.

Bran didn't seem as visibly upset as he'd been when he first walked into Jonah’s house. Even then, his emotions had been tightly reigned in. But she knew better. She decided she'd be quiet for now, mostly because the drive to the house was giving her some small form of motion sickness.

Instead, she tried remembering what Rebecca’s nightmare had been. It was like one big blank and it bothered her. All she remembered was something...something horrible.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some Lovecraft for the Lovecraft crossover, lol


	11. Chapter 11

Meara didn’t sleep that night. She tossed and turned every once in awhile, but she went the whole night with her eyes open. She stared at the ceiling and clutched her blankets to her chest. 

It wasn’t as if she was afraid anymore. Being in the house helped - Bran’s scent was woven into the air around her, providing a sense of comfort and security. 

He’d hovered when he brought her home. Her legs had still been wobbly and she’d held his hands a little too tightly; clinging desperately to him. Being close to him was comforting. She knew she'd made him worry. She’d apologized to him for the distress. He’d just smiled and kissed her forehead. Oh-so-softly, he told her not to apologize when she did no wrong.

She still didn’t remember what happened. What she’d seen in Rebecca’s nightmare. She felt like she should be more bothered by Rebecca being able to pull her into her dreams like that. But Rebecca’s capabilities were not what disturbed her. It was the thing she’d seen; the thing she could not remember.

Meara buried her face in her pillow, hugging it close. She wanted to sleep - but it wouldn’t come.

* * *

Meara ended up showering and dressing for the day much earlier than usual. She didn’t know if Bran was awake yet, so she made herself coffee and a small breakfast that she didn’t eat much of. When she was finished, she padded off to the library.

She tucked herself into the loveseat and wrapped her quilt around herself. Seeing as she spent massive chunks of her time there, she’d decided to leave the quilt in the library. She wasn’t worried about it coming to hard; the pack members that were in and out of Bran’s house daily didn’t touch it, even if they sat in the library. The only person whose scent was on the quilt was Bran’s; and that, Meara didn’t mind. 

She found  _ The Count of Monte Cristo  _ and started it over again - one of her favorites. But she lost focus every few pages. She didn’t want to think she was still shaken, but she still had that light, sort of dizzy feeling come and go. She closed the book in frustration and leaned back, rubbing her eyes.

“Are you alright?” 

She hadn’t heard Bran come downstairs. He was freshly dressed and watching her from the opening to the library.

“Yeah, I think so.” Meara said, sitting upright and setting her feet on the floor to face him. “I didn’t really sleep last night, so I’m a little tired.” 

He sat across from her in the lounge chair, leaning on his knees. “What the witch did to you.” He said, tone revealing nothing. “It’s left you shaken.” 

“She did it by accident. And only because she was afraid.” Meara couldn’t help sounding a little defensive. She knew how he was about witches and Rebecca, and even with how she was now she didn’t want him taking anything out on the girl. She rubbed away chills that formed on her arms. “Whatever she dreamed about, it was  _ horrible _ . That's why I'm still all shaky.”

He watched her for a moment, considering something. After a long moment, he spoke. 

“The conversation we had earlier.” He said softly. “Do you know what a mate bond is?”

She frowned, and her brain was a flurry of possibilities as she struggled for an answer. 

“Anna talked about it a little. It’s like pack magic, but between two individuals. Stronger than pack, more intimate. It’s - it’s more than marriage. More permanent. And it’s different for everyone, right?” She said, distracted, as she tried to desperately figure out what he was getting at. 

The thought passed through her, of Bran taking  _ her _ as his mate. The idea intimidated her - but the wolf in her was oddly pleased with the notion. She fiddled with her fingers nervously. 

“Yes.” He said shortly. “Mate bonds are a type of pack magic in the way it connects one to another. Usually a couple come together, choose each other on their own - and the wolf, after time, can choose to follow suit. And love isn’t the necessary factor for a bond. Trust is; without the trust, there can be no bond. Whether they love each other or not.” 

“Anna said something about her bond not working until she could let herself trust Charles.” She said softly. 

“An Omega is tricky. Just like pack magic doesn’t work the same on you, mate bonds work differently, too.” He said, and he had this look on his face, like there was an afterthought he kept to himself. “Being mated means being more than married. It’s a deep connection that could potentially link two together for as long as they both live.”

Her nerves were getting to her. “Why are you telling me about this?” She asked, softly. 

Bran’s eyes glistened a little, the hazel brighter than usual. 

“Because - I need you to understand. Being mated is one thing, but being  _ my _ mate is another thing.” 

And then, after a hesitant moment, he told her. He told her  _ everything. _

About his mother, what she made him and Samuel into. About the beast he became when he killed her, about what he did when the beast ruled. He told her about Blue Jay Woman. He turned his head away as he did, so she could see the pained look in his eyes.

(Or perhaps so he could not see the pained look in  _ her _ eyes.)

He explained that with Blue Jay Woman, he learned the mate bond was the perfect cage for the beast. Spreading the cost of control. He told her of her death and how he could no longer afford to love after Charles’s mother. At all. Then he spoke about Leah, and the unfortunate compromise he found in her. The compromise that lead to Leah taking her own life. 

“When I found you, I thought keeping you near might be enough that I could avoid the need for a mate. Anna had given me the idea; when she kept me from losing my control after Leah died. But it has not been enough. I’d hoped between the two of you it would be better.” He explained, sitting still. “But the magic took hold on its own. Without either of us noticing, us or our wolves - there is a mate bond between us, though it is fragile and small. By the time I realized what it was, it was too late.” But that was a lie. “Or rather, it was too late for me.” 

Meara sat quite still. She had apparently adopted the excellent poker face he had, because for once she wasn’t wearing her heart on her sleeve. He couldn’t see what she was thinking, but he supposed he couldn’t be too bothered because that was a lot to dump on her at once. 

He probably should have picked a different moment - not when she was so shaken from an experience with witchcraft. 

“That’s...that’s a big something.” Meara said at last, looking to the side. She looked...jumpy. Anxious. Bran could see how her nerves were wired, and he could feel the tension through the frail bond. “Wow.” 

“It is.” Bran told her softly. “I still haven’t quite figured out why it formed, and I am not overly fond of magic when it does things on its own. But I also have realized there is little point in fighting against these sort of things.”

Meara took a breath, glancing at him. She couldn’t bring herself to look at his face, so her eyes ended up on his shoes. “What...” She her voice cracked, so she cleared it and took a breath. “What does this mean, then? What do - what do you want from me?” 

“Your trust.” He told her, earnestly. “And your willingness. I cannot love you, but it doesn’t change that I need you - your bond with me.” 

She still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Her trust; that, that he had almost completely. Her life was torn completely out of her hands years ago, and he came and gave her some semblance of control once more. He opened his home and his family to her and treated her with the utmost respect. She trusted him, probably with her life. 

Her willingness, however, was a different story. 

She  _ did _ have feelings for Bran. More than a crush - but not quite something she’d want to call love just yet. She had something tender in there for him and it had only gotten bigger since it first sprouted. Her willingness - perhaps. But he said he couldn’t love her. Was she willing to do that to herself? Put herself in the arms of a man who could never look at her in love? He cared about her, she knew. But love…?

Her wolf gave her confidence and encouragement; that part of her wanted him, wanted to be his mate and stay with him forever. The wolf had no time for silly, human apprehension. That struck her as odd. The wolf was supposed to chose to mate last. But Meara’s wolf wanted it, and she wanted it  _ now _ . It was the first time Meara had ever felt a sort of dissonance with her wolf since they came together; it wanting something and she not. Perhaps it was a result of the mate bond already being there. Perhaps Meara really did want Bran and was too scared to admit it.

It was very interesting. Interesting was good.

“I've never -” She took a deep breath. “I don't want to do something that's going to make me unhappy like she was. I  _ won’t _ do something like that - I’ll leave before I end up like her, if it gets to that.” She didn't have to specify, because he knew she was talking about Leah. “But I'm...I can't make promises. But I'm willing to...to try.”

He hesitated. “The longer this goes on, the harder it would be for you to be free of it.” He told her. “And there is no guarantee I'd be willing to let you go as I am now.”

She turned and smiled at him. “Well, hopefully, down the road that won't be a problem.” She responded lightly.

He took her hand in his, and kissed her fingers. “Thank you.”

“I'd definitely need to go slow.” She warned him. “Or at least not too fast. I've never had a relationship or anything before. Ever. So I don’t really know what’s what in this sort of thing.”

He smiled. “Of course - your comfort is important to me.”

Her cheeks went a little red, and he could feel her embarrassment - the bond was stronger now, with her willingness and awareness. “Thank you.” She said, and she felt something soft - like pack magic, but small and weak. When she blinked, she swore for a second she saw a tiny, thin strange of red silk tying her littlest left finger to his.

* * *

They went slow.

Meara was still young and unsure. She was the type who usually looked before each step she took, and liked to pause and consider which direction she took for as long as possible.

Bran didn't mind. She'd agreed to try - to be his. He found he wasn't all that worried about her deciding she didn't want this. He was incredibly confident that he could keep her, court her properly so that she was comfortable. Wooing her perhaps wasn’t the best choice, because he would not be able to love her in the same way she might him. But the wolf in him wanted to make sure she stayed - and he completely agreed.

Samuel was  _ thrilled _ with the news. Bran knew it was because he had been the most worried. All these long years he'd spent with his oldest son, all they'd been through and fared, Bran understood that Samuel only wanted his father safe and happy. Or as happy as he could be, as the Marrok. When he left to go back to his wife, he left looking far more at ease. Bran suspected half the reason he came was because Charles had told him about what was happening with Meara, and that he’d some agenda about getting them together.

Anna was smug and Charles was cool as a cucumber - but the relief on their end was visible when they heard. Charles joked about finally having some privacy with his mate. The joking meant that Charles’s relief ran so much deeper than what he showed on the surface. 

He let her set a pace she was most comfortable with - although restraining himself was rather difficult at times. Not much changed in terms of the dynamic between them. The flirting was the same, the casual way she was around him and the way she interacted with him. She touched him more; hugging close and making more contact with him more often. Draping herself over him when they were on the couch together, hugging his back as he cooked. When she first kissed him, it took everything in him not to trap her in his arms and kiss her until she struggled for breath. 

Asil appeared with a bundle of roses sometime after he heard - most likely from Kara, because Anna swore up and down hadn’t told him. “I had some ideas,” he told Bran, as the roses were cut and set in a vase, “when you first questioned me. I spoke to her, briefly, and it only concerned me further. I had intended to confront you on the matter - it seemed strange for you to want her as a mate, knowing how young and fresh she is.” 

“It happened on it’s own.” Bran told him. “I didn’t realize it at first, when the bond first formed. By the time I did it seemed too late.”

“Hm.” Asil smiled knowingly and kept his eyes on the roses as he arranged them. “It wasn’t too late to break the bond. It still isn’t.” He was smug.

Bran eyed him. “No.” 

Asil just kept smiling. “She is very charming.” He mused. “Perhaps you were lucky to get to her first. There are many who have an eye for our little Omega, both within Aspen Creek and without.” 

The look Bran gave Asil was sharp; territorial. Asil just kept smiling. “She will be good for you and this pack.” He said. 

Bran supposed he was right. “As long as I can keep her.” He muttered. 

Asil chuckled. “I’m sure you will have no trouble wooing the lady.” 

Bran wasn’t worried about that, though. And that night, with Asil’s fresh roses to give luck, he made a special dinner. He set up a small table in the library, though instead of candles he dimmed the lights a little. And he put on a nice suit, pulling off the tie and leaving the top buttons of the blouse undone. 

Meara hadn’t expected it, and she was flustered but excited. The sweetness of it embarrassed her. He’d noticed that; now that he was actively courting her, he treated her sweetly and spoiled her often. Instinctive, he knew, to shower his mate with all he could to make her happy. But Meara was a rather humble, so the sweet things and spoiling often left her red faced and overflowing with gratitude. 

“I almost didn’t expect this from you.” She told him, eyeing the expensive wine he was pouring for her. “Almost. You didn’t seem like the spoiling type at first.” 

“What sort of type did I strike you as?” He placed her glass beside her plate of nice, medium rare steak, without so much as causing the slightest ripple in the wine. 

“Hm…” She smiled with dark, purple lips, earrings chiming as she tilted her head. She’d dressed up at his behest. Her dress was tight, hugging her body in all the right ways, mid sleeved and low cut in the front. Due to the size of her bust, she displayed a generous amount of cleavage - something Bran rather greatly appreciated. She’d even curled and styled her hair, pinning enough curls back to they were away from her face.

“I figured you’d be more of a ‘by your bootstraps’ kind of guy. Every man for himself mentality.” She said, leaning forward slightly as she cut into her steak. “The kind of parent who tries very hard to foster independence in their children.”

He chuckled. “Well, independence is certainly an important trait for children to have. But there’s nothing wrong with a little material affection along the way.” 

And when she finished her meal, Bran slid a long, unmarked jewelry box across the little table to her. Her smile dropped and her eyes went a little wide. “No.” She couldn’t help but bite out, a mix between horror and embarrassment. He gestured, and she opened it. 

It was one of her mother’s necklaces; three pearls, white, pink, and black, in a drop formation from the thin chain. The necklace used to be made in silver, but now it was all gold - even the tiny pins inside the pearls themselves, her nose told her. 

She looked up at him, eyes wide with shock. Then tears welled in her eyes and she turned her face away, covering her cheek with her hand. “You could’ve picked a night I wasn’t wearing makeup.” She mumbled, trying to swallow her tears. 

“Anna may have let it slip that your mother’s pearls were your favorite necklace, and that it made you sad that you couldn’t wear it anymore.” He said softly. “So I had it fixed.”

She tried to use her napkin to catch the tears before they dragged her makeup down. Suddenly she was on her feet, and he stood when she burst around the table to hug him. She threw her arms around his neck and held him tight. “Thank you, Bran.” She mumbled, sniffling. “I mean it. You have no idea how much this means to me.” 

He wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her temple. “You’re welcome.” He rumbled. She caught his face in her hands and pulled him down to pepper him with kisses. Her dark lipstick left marks all over. She laughed when she saw, the tears streaming down her face. “Now I feel incredibly spoiled.” She teased, brushing her fingers up his jaw. 

He didn’t respond, instead kissing her again and again. 

He’d have no trouble courting her at all. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sort of pure fluff. I couldn't help it - it's not gonna get any nicer from here on out so I needed this lol


	12. Chapter 12

_Three months later_

* * *

The time for the October changes had come.

Meara had no idea what to expect from it. Bran explained the ceremony to her; people who were approved for the change were ravaged by either someone who loved them dearly or Bran, and if the magic took hold then they became werewolves. Most didn’t make it.

It wasn’t quite what she expected, when he explained. Those who wanted to take the Change had to go through a long process that started a long while before October even began. They had to do all sorts of seemingly menial tasks; fill out questionnaires and submit essays,  get testimonies from people - werewolves - who knew them. The actual change itself was always occurred this time of the year, always in Aspen Creek. There were several ceremonies that they had to complete, to weed out those who were weak willed and the bad seeds who slipped through the cracks. All packs went through Bran’s method - because it was currently the best method at making wolves that survived the change, and after.

That didn't mean there were hundreds of people from all across the country lined up to become werewolves. There were a little over twenty people this time, Bran said. And they were still dropping out every minute.

“This isn’t always a life we want for others.” Bran told her one night, while explaining the ceremony. She was snuggled against him on the couch, his fingers combing her hair in thought; he did that a lot, now. She figured he either like how soft her hair was or he just liked touching her. “Some try very hard to convince their loved ones not to take the Change.”

“I can understand why they’d want to do it, though.” Meara said, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. They were both ignoring the movie at this point, drawn into the conversation. “I think it would be hard, seeing the ones you love stay one way forever. Forcing them to watch you die slowly. It probably makes some of them feel guilty.”

He paused. “I suppose.” He never gave much thought to the humans around him, and not just because they were fleeting and he had thousands of wolves to care for. He was very, very old, and that meant he’d seen many people die. If he had to grieve every other year he wouldn't have made it to this age.

Meara was still young. Five years a wolf, she was still running on human time - eventually she might change, as age did to all things immortal or not. But for now, the concerns of mortal andl fleeting were still very much on her mind.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to go to the ceremony. Didn’t have to, as in, Bran told (asked) her not to go.

“We quickly learned, with Anna, that an Omega makes the Change difficult. What you need to survive is the will to fight, and Omegas soothe that.” Bran told her. “You will be very important in helping them later on, but having you there would only hinder them.”

She was rather relieved that she didn’t have to go - only slightly hurt that she would be a hindrance. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Bran told her, taking her hand.

She smiled and laughed. “I know, I know. I’m more bothered by the notion of doing more harm than good. I like helping. I don’t like being in the way.” And then she held his hand with a frown. “I’m still getting used to that. You knowing how I’m feeling.”

With their mate bond, no matter how small and frail it was, came the unusual gift of empathy. The only wolf in the pack who had experience with such a bond was Asil. He and his dead mate had once shared an empathic bond - one that had been corrupted and stolen by a jealous witch.

“Is it an Omega thing?” Meara had gone to ask him, after Bran told her briefly of Asil’s Sarai and Mariposa.

“Anna and Charles, while very aware of each other, do not share emotions as such.” Asil explained. “It is a rarity that appears only every so often.”

“Bran told me he didn't have this with his last two mates.” She said absently. “Is it something I did? Or is it because the bond formed without either of us knowing?”

Asil examined for a moment. “I couldn't answer that honestly. What I can tell you, is that a mate bond manifests differently and uniquely for every mated pair. No two bonds will ever be the same; even if one wolf had a hundred mates in his life, he will never experience the same bond with the next as he did the last.”

It didn't really answer any questions she had - only left her with more. She didn't mind the shared connection, even if Bran was much better at reading her than she was him. The bond made her feel...closer. Closer to Bran and more aware of herself.

It was that bond that told her something significant about Bran, when the night of the last full moon in October passed.

She woke up, dressed for the day, and met Bran in the kitchen for breakfast as normal. She was feeling antsy; she always did, the days surrounding the full moon. He smiled and greeted her, standing over the stove as he made pancakes. She touched his arm and stood on her toes to kiss him. Bran wasn't terribly taller than Meara, who was only just taller than Anna was. He ducked his head to meet her, smiling. 

When she took a step back, tears came pouring down her cheeks. He dropped the spatula, blinking. “Oh,” she touched her cheeks, “oh.” Her expression didn’t match the sorrow, didn’t match the heartbroken scent to her tears.

Bran looked pained for a moment. He turned off the burner and moved the pan, food forgotten. “You -” Meara started, when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug, “- why are you so sad? You shouldn’t do that to yourself.” She gripped the back of his shirt with trembling hands and pressed her cheek against his chest. She felt his heartbeat thrum against her, soothing her.

“I’m sorry.” He cooed, stroking her hair. “I didn’t think it would reach you. I thought I had it held better than that.”

“It’s not your fault.” She told him, closing her eyes. “You don’t have to carry that grief. They made the choice.”

She’d never thought about it, never thought of the feelings he carried - not like that. She wondered if anyone but his sons ever did. Bran was carrying the guilt and grief of the people who he had ravaged last night; of the ones who died when the magic failed to take hold. She’d never seen something so _human_ from him. It made her heart ache, and not just because their bond made her share his grief.

“Don’t shut me out from things like that.” She whispered. “Let me help you. Please.”

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the kitchen counter. He held her tighter, feeling her power and her care soothe his grieving heart. “It hurts you, little Omega.” He murmured back. “That’s why I care to keep these things from you.”

“Well don’t.” She grumbled. The tears were running dry. “It hurts me more for you to treat me like that. Like I’m all fragile and stupid. Don’t do that.”

He didn’t say anything else. He held her tight, keeping her in his arms until the shock left him. When she touched him, the feelings he kept out of mind were wild free. She caught the brunt of it, sapping up the grief and sorrow like a sponge. And that, for a moment, scared him.

He added chocolate chips to the rest of the pancakes. They ate together in silence, but their chairs were pulled close enough that they could touch. He leaned into her, comforted by her presence.

* * *

Meara went to check on Rebecca a few days later. She was alone today. Jonah was tending to a friend whose son did not make the Change, and Daniel and Dexter were grocery shopping. Rebecca jumped when Meara walked into the kitchen, but sagged with relief when she recognized her.

“How are you feeling?” Meara asked, setting her keys on the kitchen table. Rebecca shrugged, fetching her a drink. “It’s easier now that the moon has passed.” She confessed. “But I’m still nervous.”

“Because of Everett’s pack?” Meara leaned forward. One of the prospects had been from Everett’s pack, and two of the man’s friends had come with him; one had made the attempt to Change him. The man didn’t make it, and they were still here, preparing to leave with the body.

Bran had told them himself they were forbidden from seeing the witch. She was there when he did. They’d apparently received the same order from Everett, and Bran was putting emphasis.

Rebecca nodded, sitting next to her and setting their drinks on coasters. “Not just that.” Rebecca confessed. “I’ve got - I’ve got two months at most left. I don’t have perfect control of my magic.”

Meara put her hand on Rebecca’s. Comforting her helped Meara forget her discomforts. “You’ve done so _well_. Even Charles said so. You haven’t had any sort of episode or the like since that last nightmare you had. You’re just nervous because of Everett’s wolves and the moon.” Meara told her. “And you’re very smart. You’ve got it almost completely reeled in. You’ll do fine.”

“My magic is still sporadic.” Rebecca said sheepishly. “It scares me.”

“Good.” Meara said sternly. “Scared means you’re not too stupid to think it won’t harm you. Be scared, but keep being smart. You’ll get it, I know.”

Rebecca sighed and leaned forward. “You’re so nice to me.”

“You’re my friend. Duh.” Meara grinned. She leaned forward to say something else, but went still when she heard a car pulled up to the front of the house.

Meara stood. It wasn’t Jonah or Daniel’s cars. It wasn’t Charles, or Bran. No one else was allowed to really come see Rebecca unless Bran told them so.

Meara’s bad feeling crawled up her spine. She locked the door and backed into the kitchen.

There were two werewolves coming; one in human skin and one in wolf. Meara knew they weren’t here with good intentions. The hesitated on the porch when they caught her scent.

She took a deep breath; they smelled like desert sand and anger. Everett’s wolves. They were here, despite what Bran and their alpha instructed.

“Call Bran.” She told Rebecca immediately. “Right now. Tell him Everett’s idiots are here and we need him or Charles right now.”

Rebecca hesitated, until Meara looked at her sharply and threw her cellphone. Rebecca fumbled to obey, hastily telling Bran that Everett’s wolves were here and Meara needed him here. He told them he’d be there and hung up.

Meara open Jonah’s oven and pull out his heavy cast iron skillet. She didn’t see much better in Jonah’s kitchen, but she knew broken bones were much harder to recover from than stab wounds. Anna told her she favored her grandmother’s marble rolling pin as a home defense weapon. She grabbed the small, sharp fruit knife in her other hand anyways.

Meara hesitated. Fighting was a foreign concept to her. She’d never done it in earnest before becoming a wolf, and no one dared to try and harm her now. She’d play fought during hunts - but that would be nothing compared to what she knew was coming.

“You were told by your alpha not to come here.” Meara said, knowing they could hear her. A locked door wouldn’t hold them for more than the seconds it took to bust it down. “You were ordered by the Marrok to leave her be.”

“We were told not to go see the witch. So we come to see you.” Came the answer. He was trying not to lie, but it was a half-assed and stupid attempt.

“You came to see the witch - liar. Don’t make something up to try to be clever. You're not fae, and you're not good at it.” She snapped. “She is part of the Marrok’s pack now. You can’t be that stupid.”

He kicked down the door, and Meara twirled the pan in show. The human skinned one was tall and had pale blue eyes. He stared her down, and she met his gaze, the force of his dominance washing past her. The wolf was big and colored like a dark german shepherd. He snarled with bright gold eyes. She didn’t know their names.

Good. That would make it easier.

“We don’t want to hurt you.” The man said, a little more gently than before.

Meara snorted. “Of course you don’t. You’re angry, not crazy.” She said. “This is a death wish. If you fight me I won’t stop until I kill one or both of you or you kill me, and if you kill me Bran will kill you. You’ve already disobeyed your alpha. Don’t make it worse.”

“We don’t have to fight. We just want the witch.” Rebecca growled at her mention. “Two of our pack are dead because of her. She must pay.” The wolf growled as the man spoke, lowering himself in preparation to spring. Meara angled herself in front of Rebecca and flipped the knife so that the blade faced forward. “You _will_ have to get through me first. Your pack has lost enough. We have all lost enough as of late - leave, turn around and go home.” She countered. She knew it would come to a fight either way. She just wanted to give Bran enough time to get there.

She tried something other than talking. Gathering the power she knew was there, she unleashed it in a wave - cold air that smelled of salt blasted through the room. Rebecca stumbled and sighed - the man took a step back and sat in a heap on the porch. “Oh.” He mumbled, the wolf pushed back and the human fully in control. “Ohh-mega, right. Shhould have ruh-emembered…” He slurred.

But it was all for naught, when the wolf sprang forward and slammed into her. Her power was knocked out when she fell; the wolf dug his claws and fangs into her shoulder and shook his head until the flesh was torn to ribbons.

Rebecca screamed, but Meara didn't. Instead she brought the skillet hard against his ribs and heard three break. He didn’t give up even as she continued to smash it into him, biting into her other arm and tearing away flesh. She heard Bran’s voice in her head, calling when he felt her pain through the bond - felt the ice of his rage spill into her. She had to ignore him to focus.

The man shot over them, going for Rebecca, and she flung him back with a wave of magic. Meara managed to turn the skillet around and drove the handle into the wolf's eye.

The beast howled and lurched away. Meara’s wolf took over, filling her with a fury as she sang her song through their human throat. Meara slammed into the wolf, into the barrel of its chest, and they rolled into the doorframe hard enough to smash it. She threw the wolf out onto the porch; she still had her skillet.

She didn’t get the chance to react before the man grabbed the side of her head and smashed her into the doorframe.

She managed to drop the skillet and get her hand up fast enough to cover her eye, fingers just barely guarding it, but wood splintered all into her face and she felt something in her jaw break. She let out a muffled scream when he did it again, then he managed twice more before she smashed her foot into his knee, effectively breaking it.

Her other arm swung before her brain caught up, and the knife sitters across his face and nailed him in one eye. He lurched away, howling in pain.

The wolf came at her again, digging his claws into her side and sinking his teeth into the shoulder he had already begun to tear apart. She screamed as he dragged her down, pulling her across the porch. She tried to pull away, tried to give herself a moment to protect herself. He savaged her shoulder and she thought the only way for this wolf to be capable of this is if he was mad.

He grabbed her by the left arm and _shook_. He shook so hard that her bone broke, the joint popped, until it felt like the arm would come off. Then he released her, taking a sudden step back and snarling in anticipation. She attempted to roll over.

The man was there again, and he punched her in the face hard enough to break her nose. He punched her in the ribs and in the gut - blood spilled past her lips - and hit her in the face again. He took her head in his hands and pulled her upright.

They were going to kill her before she had the chance to use her power on them again. Bran’s voice slipped into welsh in her mind - she shoved him away again, his voice distracting her.

She reached and found the skillet, and smashed the man in the side of the head. The blow knocked him clean across the porch and halfway down the steps. She struggled to put weight on her limbs while still having her weapon ready; her left arm was broken.

“Stupid fucking girl.” The man choked. He was crying - he was fucking _crying_. “We didn’t have to do this!”

“You’re boring.” She croaked, and Rebecca sent a strong blast of magic sent the wolf howling into the yard, rolling to put out ghostly looking flames.

The man got up. So did Meara, broken bones forgotten for a moment. She reset her nose without a flinch. She dropped the skillet and switched hands with the paring knife. “Stupid _fucking_ woman-” He snarled at her, and she lunged with the knife. She was faster than him, but she was more injured than he was. He was fast enough to dodge her aim for his eye and end up with the knife in his shoulder. It didn’t so much as stall him.

He grabbed her by the neck and slammed her into the ground. He pinned her on her front and leaned heavily on her; heavily on her broken arm. She heard something click, smelled the metal and silver. Then he fired once and she felt the burn go straight through her hip. She screamed.

“Stupid girl,” he snarled at her, leaning heavily on her torn and bloodied shoulder, “you stupid girl. This could have been easier. She is an abomination.”

Meara looked up and saw the wolf lunge for Rebecca on the porch, interrupting the spell she was building. She rolled to avoid him, ending up with claws down her shoulder. The wolf skittered to gain traction on the hardwood and Rebecca slid down the porch and into the grass.

Rebecca’s eyes were yellow and bright. Her fingers looked black and thin, and the air felt sick and heavy.

Meara heard the gun click as he prepared the next silver bullet. “Pretty tattoos,” he mumbled above her, words slurred and half spoken.

Meara remembered what Rebecca’s nightmare was about now. The gun dropped in the grass next to her head.

The man was staring at her back, focused on the eyes of her tattoo. She grabbed the gun and smashed it into his jaw, rocking him off her back and on his side. He didn’t so much as flinch - he stared, eyes wide, mouth agape.

Meara got up and twisted his neck before she could think. She turned and shot the wolf in the eye before he could lunge for Rebecca. She shot at his head until the gun ran dry, until his skull was littered with holes. Blood and silver were the strongest scents in the air.

Rebecca turned and smiled at Meara. Her eyes were black now. Meara limped over - dragged herself, really, as the silver made her body burn and ache. She slammed the butt of the gun into the side of Rebecca’s head. Rebecca stumbled and fell, and the black and sick feeling left the air.

Rebecca gasped, breathing hard. “Wha-” She wheezed, barely looking up in time to see Meara limp up the porch and twist the wolf’s neck.

It was done. The adrenaline faded - Meara stumbled and fell, leaning hard against the porch rail. Her wolf preened in satisfaction; they had protected their own.

Rebecca shivered and was crying as she hurried over to Meara. “Oh my god-” She said, hands shaking, “oh my god. This is my fault.”

Meara was drained - and she was beginning to feel the panic. But Rebecca was losing her control and Meara’s wolf stepped forward. The wolf made them calm; and Meara took Rebecca’s hand and shared that calm with her. “Don’t think about that right now.” Meara told her - her voice cracked.

Rebecca was submissive. The wolf could not come forward to help, because it was not capable of it. Meara had to keep her calm and able - not only so she could help Meara, but so she didn’t draw anyone’s ire when Bran and help arrived.

Rebecca swallowed a sob. “What do you need me to do?” Rebecca asked, holding Meara’s hands tightly. Meara pointed to her bloody hip. It burned like she’d dropped a hot iron on it, stabbed a fire poker into her flesh. The bullet was still there.

“Get it out, please?” Her words slurred a little. The wolf tried to shake off the dizziness.

She heard the cars come up, heard the voices. “I can do that, I think. Maybe more.” Rebecca said, but faltered and backed away. She dropped her face and showed her throat.

Meara felt Bran’s hands on her before she felt his ice cold rage blast over them. It felt like the bite of a blizzard. “Hi,” she mumbled, leaning into him immediately. His arms coiled around her and he pressed her into his chest. “Rebecca can fix - silver.” She said into his shoulder.

“Do it.” Bran spat the words like venom. She heard his teeth clack, heard the growl in his chest. She hadn’t been paying attention to the bond since the fight started - it distracted her, and she had to focus on not dying. He was so _angry_ and that rage was bubbling and hot - but oh, so cold. She would have felt it, would have known it was there, but she was so _tired._

Her wolf was still forcing the calm. She reached with her bloodied and torn arm and put a hand against his neck. Rebecca touched her hip - it was going numb from the pain and blood. “Sorry,” Rebecca whimpered, “I can’t make it not hurt.”

“Just _do it._ ” Bran snarled. Meara closed her eyes and pressed her face against his shoulder. “It’s not her fault.” She whispered to him, but she couldn’t get anything else out when her body began to _burn._ She grabbed onto his shirt and whined, trembling.

It was slow and horrible, and Meara heard someone screaming. It took her a moment to realize it was her, that she was screaming into Bran’s shoulder. He was talking to her, murmuring to her softly and reassuringly in her ear and in her mind. One of his hands was holding the back of her head, cradling her. She bit into his shoulder, sinking her teeth in deep to stop screaming, and he didn’t so much as flinch.

Rebecca dug a finger in and then the pain was half gone. Meara heard the bullet clatter on the porch like it was the loudest thing there. Meara heard Bran snap at Rebecca, telling her to fix what she could manage. Rebecca started with the shoulder the wolf had torn apart - the worst of her wounds, the one that bled the most. It didn’t burn at all like the silver wound did.

Meara let go of Bran’s shoulder, his coppery blood mixing with her on her tongue. “Sorry,” she croaked.

Bran kissed the top of her head, and something cool and tasting of salt washed through her. It dulled the pain and eased the result of the blood loss. Pack magic, she vaguely realized. Bran had told her that the bonds of a pack could help a wolf heal, help the change go faster - lots of things. She sank into his arms with a relieved sigh that came out as half a sob.

“I can’t do anymore-” Rebecca sobbed, when she half-finished with Meara’s shoulder, “I don’t have enough for that. I used too much fighting them off.”

“Fine.” Bran snapped.

Meara finally managed looked up at him. His eyes were pale and _bright_ gold as he glared at Rebecca. She saw the rage and something like pain - and when she reached through the bond, she felt his control shake. She lifted her hand, her left hand, and managed to put it on his cheek, smearing blood. “I’m sorry.” She mumbled, pulling his face down so he couldn’t glare at Rebecca anymore. “Don’t be mad at her. She helped.”

Bran took a deep breath; it sounded like it trembled, and she felt shivers run through him. Her wolf recognized something dangerous rising; something deadly. For a fearful moment Meara thought not only of the death that could come, but of Bran being lost to his beast forever. Her wolf pushed forward and grabbed for their mate bond. Meara willed herself to be calm, to be serene as she could manage and gave it all to him.The silver in her eyes was almost as bright as Bran’s gold.

He wiped a tear from her bloody, splintered cheek. “Save your energy.” He told her softly. “Don’t waste it on me, little wolf. You must heal.”

“Please don’t leave me.” Meara’s eyes drooped. Her words meant something more in that moment. “I won’t leave you. Don’t leave me.” She whispered again. She heard him suck in a breath through his teeth. She felt his lips touched her forehead before she slipped into the blackness.

She didn’t dream. But her sleep felt warm and comforting.


	13. Chapter 13

Meara came in and out of sleep now and then. The first time, Bran coaxed her through the Change - it often made the healing process faster. It was the longest, most agonizing shift she’d ever been through. She fainted as soon as she finished, Bran’s voice soothing and assuring in her mind.

The second time Bran fed her bits of raw steak. He’d cut them into small pieces so that she had little else to do but swallow. She managed to eat two whole steaks before she fell back asleep, curled up against Bran’s side with her head in his lap.

The next time she was only awake long enough to realize that Bran had her cradled his lap, running his hand through her fur. He was singing to her. She'd never heard him sing before; his voice was beautiful and rich and it sent chills down her spine. The song was strangely familiar. It was in Welsh, she realized. It helped lull her back to sleep.

After that, she only woke enough to eat and have water every now and then. At one point she was awake enough to change back, but she only recalled the pain and feeling her fingers wrapping around Bran’s hand.

When she finally woke up, she first felt the pain. It was hot and deep, but not as bad as it had been. She groaned, attempting to move. The room was dark - Bran’s room, she realized after a moment. The blankets and pillows were arranged in a comfortable nest for her, family quilt set by the pillows. Someone had put her in fresh underwear and an oversized shirt. Even her hair was braided.

The room smelled of magic, blood, and anger. Bran's anger, she knew. She wondered how much time he'd been spending in here, with her.

She was bandaged, she realized next. Tightly wrapped all around her body, everywhere she recalled the feeling of claws and fangs. Her ribs, her shoulder, _her hip_ , everything hurt - but those were the worst. Her left arm was heavily secured, bound to her chest with bandages to keep her from moving it. It was definitely broken; the joint burned, and she vaguely remembered feeling like her arm had been torn out. She tried to sit up, but her body felt weak and that made her hurt worse. “Fuck, me.” Meara mumbled, wincing. Her hip felt like it was on fire.

The footsteps were sudden and rapid, and the door opened seconds later. The light poured in and she turned her head sharply, eyes used to darkness.

Bran immediately shut the door. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her for a moment. Like he was waiting for her to pass out again. “Can you help me sit up?” Meara asked, instead. “I don’t think I can do it by myself.”

Bran came and situated the pillows quickly. His hands were soft and gentle as he pulled her up and helped her settle. She sighed, feeling not only a little relief from the pain of lying, but a little safer now that she could see the room.

Bran stayed very still, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing her. His eyes were gold, and despite the smoothness to his expression, she could feel his anger and frustration. The bond was open again, now that she wasn’t holding it shut. It didn’t feel as strong as it did before. She wondered if he was holding back from her.  She angled herself towards him; her right side hurt less anyways. “How long have I been out for?” She asked, mumbling. Her jaw ached - but it wasn’t broken anymore.

“Two days.” He ground out. “I would have had you stay as a wolf to heal faster, but you kept trying to change back in your sleep.”

Meara blinked groggily. She recalled, vaguely, feeling frightened. She was afraid of being alone, of Bran leaving and she not being to talk to him. “I was scared.” She said truthfully. “It’s easier to talk with words.”

“You would have healed faster.” He said again. “The worst of your wounds would be better.”

As if to emphasize, her arm ached and her ribs throbbed. “I’m sorry.” She said after a moment of silence. “I can change back, if you want me too.” She turned her head away, eyes down. He was mad at her, and she didn't have the energy to feel like anything but a child being scolded.

Bran sighed. He slid onto the bed and pressed as close as he could without touching any injuries. “No, no. I'm not angry at you.” He murmured, brushing loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “You're fine. You're healing.”

Meara closed her eyes and leaned towards him. “Is Rebecca OK?” She asked, sliding her arm out from her under so she could take one of his hands. He cradled her fingers as gently as he could. “She is safe, and has recovered from her injuries.” He said. Meara got the feeling he didn't want to talk about her.

She opened her eyes. “It's not her fault, you know.” She said, trying to see what he was feeling. There was only the obvious she could perceive from the bond.

“No,” Bran said gently, “it is not. And she has been trying very hard to help you heal faster.”

That explained why the room smelled like magic. Meara felt a sense of relief, knowing Rebecca was safe and unharmed. That she hadn't just killed two people for it all to go to waste.

“Do you think you can eat?” Bran asked. “You haven’t had enough food in the past few days.”

“Yeah, I think I can.” Her stomach rumbled at the thought. “But not yet.”

He frowned ever so slightly. Sheepishly, she admitted, “I don't want to you to leave yet.” She squeezed his hand.

Bran sighed, smiling softly. “Even to get to food and come back?” He teased.

Meara smiled - and then her lip quivered, as she remembered why she was afraid of him leaving. “When you came, you were so angry. I'd been shutting you out - I couldn't focus enough if I listened to you - so I don't know how angry you were. I thought - I was afraid -” Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to look at him in the eye. “I was afraid that you'd lose yourself. That you would get so angry your control would snap and I wasn't right enough to bring you back. For a moment I thought I might lose you, before I even really had you.”

Bran wiped a tear away before it reached the bandage on her cheek. He was quiet for a moment; carefully considering his words.

“My mate had been left beaten and bloody. You could barely even speak - and then you _screamed_ -” He had to stop for a moment, looking away from her and taking a breath. Meara squeezed his hand again. “And you _were_ shutting me out. I couldn't feel you, couldn't reach you.”

“I'm sorry-” The horrible notion that she had pushed him into that made her gut turn.

Bran shushed her, pressing his forehead to hers. “No, no, do not apologize for what you had to do.” He said. “It wouldn't have mattered if you had done that or not. You were _hurt_.”

He cupped her face in his hand as gently as he could. “I wouldn't have left you, despite how close I was to the rage. You were alive; I held onto that. It was…” he closed his eyes. “...it was hard, to fight back the beast when it stirred. When it called for blood. But then you soothed us both, and I was fine. And I was fascinated at how you could be so hurt, yet waste all your energy fretting over me.”

She sniffled. Then she gave a small grin. “It's a talent.” She joked. He kissed her, soft and warm.

“It’s a bad habit. Let me get you some food.” He said. She nodded, letting go and settling into the pillows. He brought her food, and stayed while she ate. When she was done, he stayed with her, humming a soft tune as he stroked her hair and lulled her back to sleep.

* * *

The next time she was awake, Samuel was there, Rebecca standing behind him, and Bran perched on the edge of the bed. The curtains were drawn and the lights were on, making the room feel a little less prison like. 

Samuel grinned at her. “Morning, sunshine.” He said.

“Samuel?” She asked, groggily rubbing her eyes. “Don’t tell me you came back to doctor me.” 

Samuel held up a doctor’s bag. “I won’t tell you, then.” 

They helped her sit up all the way. She smiled at Rebecca, who gave a small smile in return before helping tug off her shirt and pull the blanket up to give her a measure of modesty. Meara laughed. “Modesty amongst werewolves.” She kept the blanket over her breasts, anyways. 

Samuel cut free all the bandages and had Rebecca hold her arm while he cut that loose, too. “Your ribs have mostly healed, now, but your arm looks like it’s still broken in several places.” Samuel told her. “We’ll have to take you to the clinic so I can get an x-ray later on.” 

“It’s definitely broken, I can feel that much.” Meara winced as he straightened her arm out. Rebecca came and sat so she could reach the arm and her back. “I think I can fix that today,” she said softly, “I’ve been working on it enough.”

Samuel nodded. The smell of magic followed the tingling sensation in her arm as Rebecca ran her fingers over it, muttering words Meara didn’t understand. Her arm stung for a moment, but the pain gradually subsided and the aches faded away. 

“There will be a few scars.” Samuel told her. “Only silver and another werewolf can leave scars in earnest. Unless Rebecca fixes it.” 

“I don’t mind.” Meara said absently, watching Rebecca work. The dark bruises were fading to nothing rather quickly; it was fascinating.

“I'm sorry I can't fix your tattoos.” Rebecca said softly. “They're all so pretty, too.”

“It's ok.” Meara said. “I didn't get any of them because they were super important or anything like that. I just got them because they were pretty. And it's just the one on my hip that's gotten messed up.”

“Up until Anna told me,” Bran said, sitting cross legged by her feet so he faced her, “I didn't even know you had tattoos, much less so many. And you have yet to talk about them, or show me.”

He looked younger, sitting like that and smiling like he was. Baby faced like she was, but without the roundness or the actual baby part. 

She smiled sheepishly. “Like I said, they're not significant or anything. They're just there.” She sighed when Rebecca finished her arm, and the pain in it was gone. Samuel checked it over and Rebecca moved to the shoulder, where there were still cuts and marks from the wolf’s claws. “You back healed nicely.” She noted, frowning. “I was surprised to see they didn’t damage this one - this tattoo.”

“Lucky me.” Meara said dryly; Bran looked at her oddly. 

“Wouldn’t tattoos heal with the Change?” Rebecca asked Samuel. He shrugged. “It depends on the person. If she’d been older, perhaps. The Change removes damage, even the damage of age, but you were what, twenty when you were Changed? Probably hadn’t the tattoos long at all.” 

Meara nodded, absently. Bran’s fingers pressed against her calf, stroking through the blankets. He sensed her discomfort.

“Already young and fresh. The human body generally stops growing around that age. So even with the ink there’s wasn’t much that needed healing in her body.” 

Meara closed her eyes and leaned an elbow on her other knee with a sigh. Bran’s fingers wrapped around her ankle, comforting. 

Rebecca pushed a little harder and healed as much as she could; leaving Meara with only deep bruises and sore ribs. Samuel didn't bother with fresh bandages, now that all the wounds were closed. Her hip still hurt horribly, but there was little to be done about that. The silver would hurt for a few days, Samuel explained, even with the magic.

“After a good meal, you should be back to tip top shape.” He told her, catching Rebecca’s arm when the witch swayed. She was pale as as sheet and her eyes were drooping shut. “Burned myself out.” She mumbled.

Bran stood and Samuel took a step back; Bran took her arm and supported, much to their surprise. “Let's put some food in you, too, before sending you back to Jonah. Daniel should be here to pick you up.” He told her.

Rebecca looked too tired to be afraid. “S’good idea.” She mumbled.

Bran nodded to his son and kissed the top of Meara’s head before taking Rebecca downstairs.

Meara looked hopefully at Samuel. “Does this mean I can get up and shower?” She asked, eyes wide with hope. It wasn't that she stank, she just felt gross.

Samuel’s lopsided grin was encouraging. “If you're careful. Da might get fussy with you out of bed, but being clean would help you feel better.”

Meara didn't have to be told twice. She was careful about putting her shirt back on, but she sprang out of the bed and skittered ahead of Samuel into the bathroom, ignoring the way her hip burned. She heard him laugh as she closed the door and turned the water on.

Despite having to sit on the floor of the tub for a few moments to stave off a wave of dizziness, the shower was the best shower she'd ever had. She scrubbed herself clean and freed herself of any grime she felt, and lingered under the spray of clean water.

She paused to examine the scar on her hip, the puckered, quarter shaped mark that the bullet left. A scar she’d keep, no doubt. It marred the watercolor manta ray she had there, the hole through one of the wings.

When she finally got out, she laughed at herself. She'd forgotten to grab fresh clothes. She dried her hair until it was no longer dripping and wrapped the towel around herself. She wadded her old clothes under her arm and padded out of the bathroom to her room.

She heard Bran come up there stairs; briefly, she thought of him walking into her room, towel on the floor and wet hair hanging down her breasts. The thought was arousing; the feeling was sexually charged in a way she hadn't felt before. Where did that come from?

She heard Bran’s sharp inhale when he nosed her arousal, and felt her body throb when a need like hers trickled through the bond. But Bran went into his room, and Meara, red faced, rushed to dress.

Her shoulder ached after her struggle with her bra, but once she was dressed in real clothes - jeans and a mid sleeved button up - she felt phenomenally better than she did before her shower. The magic of being clean.

Bran waited by the stairs. “There's food ready.” He told her, smiling. She smiled back, smelling the burgers from the kitchen. She forgot he was there for a moment - _food,_ sweet, amazing, better than any boyfriend ever _food._

Bran laughed. She was halfway into the kitchen when he finally caught up, managing to get ahead without looking rushed like she did. He handed her a plate with three burgers, and she sat beside Samuel at the kitchen bar and ate with a ravenous intensity.

Samuel whistled. “Never seen someone eat that fast and still look so dignified.” He teased. She'd finished her three before he even made it through one.

Meara smiled, but her mouth was full, so it looked pinched and awkward. Samuel laughed as she swallowed. Bran slid her three more, wordlessly watching.

“I'm hungry. Like really hungry.” Meara said, between bites.

“That comes with healing from injuries like that.” Samuel mused. “Rebecca almost ate as fast as you did. Daniel came and got her while you were in the shower.”

“She’s alright?”

“Yeah, she’ll probably sleep for a while.” Samuel mused. “She pushed herself pretty hard.”

Bran was silent across the counter. Samuel glanced at him. Meara paused, and tried to get a feel for him through the bond. But it was still strange and empty feeling; he was bottling himself up, holding things back without shutting her out. It bothered her; something was wrong, but he didn’t want her to feel it.

After they ate, Samuel left to see someone on the outskirts of town. “I missed them last time I was here, and promised I'd come to see them next time I was in town.” He explained. “I'll crash at the clinic tonight. It's closer than the house.”

“Thank you, for coming.” Meara said, smiling back as she saw him off on the porch. “You'll come say hi again before you go home, right?”

Samuel grinned at her. “Of course. I'll have to check you over again once the bruises heal, just to be sure.” Then he nodded once to his father, and left.

Meara turned to Bran when Samuel’s car was gone. “Are you sure you're ok?” She asked suddenly, taking his hand.

Bran smiled and pulled her closer. “Yes, yes.” He told her, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Don’t start fretting now.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but smiled after a moment and went into the house. She would be right not to believe him - because he was lying. But only one of his sons would have been to hear the lie there.

* * *

“Anna and Charles went somewhere?”

It was dinner, and Meara had been forced to sit instead of help him make the food. It would be just them tonight; Kara had gone to stay with Sage on Bran’s request.

“Houston.” He said, absently. “FBI asked for our help on their missing person’s case, and narrowed down a central point in Texas. Charles and Anna have worked with them several times before, so they went.”

Meara, perched on the counter by the sink, went to cross her legs, but winced and straightened them when her hip protested. She leaned and watched him cook. “They’re up to around seventy people, now, right?” She asked softly.

“Eighty-four. Three of those are werewolves.” He said, and he turned and smiled at her. “But we won’t worry about that right now.”

Meaning, she thought with a pout, that he did not want to discuss those matters with her. She supposed she could understand, in some way. She’d just been lying in his bed for two, three days because she’d been too beaten - and shot - to do anything but sleep. He probably just wanted a quiet day with her in one piece, and not filled with worry and anger. She sighed. “So how are the new ones? Have they been making it through alright?”

Only five had survived the ceremony and become werewolves - out of twenty or so. She knew it grieved him to have so many try and fail. A lot of things seemed to bring him grief.

“They all seem to be coping well.” Bran set about getting them plates and dining ware. “No trouble with them yet. Not any that required me to step in, that is.”

“That’s good, right? Means they’ll probably make it?” She asked, hopeful.

Bran shrugged. “There can be sometimes no warning. All we can do is wait and help in the ways we can. Most of them aren’t too dominant, which helps. One, Louis, seems to be submissive; from the Boston pack.”

“That’s...Isaac’s pack, right?” She’d been trying to remember the names of all the alphas under Bran’s control. He flashed her a smile. “Yes, Isaac is his alpha. Louis and his uncle will be going back to him soon. The other three from other packs will take longer, due to their being dominant.”

“The one from Aspen Creek - that one was a girl, right?” She tapped her chin. “Someone’s daughter. How’s she doing?”

“Gregory’s daughter is coming along smoother than the boys are.” Bran said. “But Gregory’s other two daughters seemed just fine at first, as well. They both lost control before their year was up, and Charles had to help Gregory put them down.”

“So there's some concern she'll snap, like her sisters?” Meara sighed. “Gosh, so much in so little time. I feel like I missed a week and not a few days.”

Bran’s hands tightened visibly on the pan. She cursed herself - bad to mention.

Bran's phone rang, saving her from the tension. He sighed and peered at the caller ID - and promptly tossed the phone on the counter with a tad bit more aggression than she expected.

“Who was it?” She asked, morbidly curious. He turned the burner off and served up their plates; he'd made some sort of dish with pasta and elk. It smelled amazing - Bran _knew_ how to cook.

She slipped off the counter and took her plate. “Rob.” He said shortly, and they went to dining room. He sat at the table head and she slid her chair a little closer to the corner, so she could press one of her bare feet against his. He sighed.

“Werewolves are terrible gossips. He found out about your injuries the day after, and has been pestering me.” He said, tone revealing nothing on how he felt. “He has been...insinuating that you should be returned to his pack sooner than later, seeing as we are incapable of protecting you from harm here.”

Meara frowned. “Sooner than later?” She jabbed her fork into a slice of elk. “I was expected to go back?”

Bran looked at her; his expression was unreadable as always. She couldn't pull anything from the bond, either. “You have the option to go anywhere, even back to Florida.” He said.

“But I thought -” Anxiety hit her suddenly, his vagueness and all around calmness making her uncomfortable. “I mean, I didn’t think I _was_ going anywhere. Not anymore. I’m staying here, right?”

Bran was still looking at her with that unreadable expression. “Are you?”

Meara blinked at him, struggling to not let the discomfort become some form of panic. “Well-” she leaned her other arm against the table, still holding her fork in the elk, “-yeah. I thought it was a given. You’re my mate, right? That’s not something that can be long distance. I was under the impression that I was going to stay here with...with you.”

Bran set his silverware down very gently. He took a moment to respond, looking away from her now. “You said you were going to try.” He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. “Does this mean you are done trying - and that you are ready for something permanent?”

“I don’t want to go anywhere, I want to stay.” Meara paused, setting down her fork and putting her hands in her lap. Embarrassment kept her from looking at him. “I know you wouldn't be able to let me leave - you can say you would all you want, but I know you wouldn’t if it came to that. I don’t think I myself could leave, anyways. I want to stay here. Or, at least, go where you go. I don’t mind that -” She swallowed again, trying not to lie. “- you may not be able to love me, but you care, and that’s enough for me. I love you - I’m not going anywhere, I'm yours.”

Her cheeks were red and she screamed internally at herself; she _just said that_ to him. What was he going to say? What _was_ there to say? He’d told her - when he told her about Blue Jay Woman and Leah - that he couldn’t love her. Wouldn’t love her. But that didn’t...it bothered her, of course. But it didn’t change how she felt. What she wanted.

Bran exploded to his feet suddenly, startling her when he chair clattered back. He grabbed the back of her chair, turning her away from the table so abruptly her feet lifted and she had to grip the seat to stay in it. “What are you-” Meara got out, before he kissed her.

It was fire and passion and _need_. She stumbled to her feet, to be closer to him and push herself against him. He shoved aside their plates - they broke loudly on the floor, but neither seemed to notice. She was up and on the table and he was over her, against her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him as close as she could.

Meara yanked at his shirt, and Bran pulled it off and threw it aside. Her shirt joined moments later; one of his hands tore free her bra and the other made quick work of the button on her jeans. She tugged on his belt and the rest of their clothes ended up in a heap on the floor.

Bran was gentle, aware of her body and the way it reacted. He made sure every touch left her breathless and writhing with need. And when she was comfortable, she pushed him into a hard and fast pace. She saw stars, felt the world spinning, saw the center of the universe and the ones who danced before it.

Meara had never envisioned her first time to be on a table, but at that moment she couldn't think of any place better. And when they were done, he pulled her into his arms and together they lied in a tangled heap on the floor.

 _Mine,_ her wolf preened in satisfaction. Her wolf rarely spoke, but now, she was loud and clear. _He is ours._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit; yall should have told me I fucked up so big on this lol I was missing like 8 paragraphs.


	14. Chapter 14

They ended up in Meara’s room, because Bran’s room still smelled of blood and pain. He woke first, early in the morning. She was snuggled into his side, naked body pressed against his. She had her head against his chest, and he stayed there, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t want to disturb her.

Their mate bond had been made whole; complete. The thin strands of silk were now stone and steel, the deep, deep magic fully settled in them. It had blossomed when she told him she wanted him, told him she was his; it had been made whole when he claimed her. And the beast was sated in earnest, the cage made whole now that it wasn’t pieced together with brokens bits of pack bonds and Omega.

She sighed in her sleep, an arm drawing across his shoulder. He closed his eyes, careful to not put his hands where the bruises were. He hadn't been fine, like he told her. The beast had been fighting to be free from the moment he felt that first blow in her fight. He had wanted to watch the world burn for a short, uncomfortable moment when he saw her, crumpled and bleeding on Jonah’s porch. It had satisfied him deeply when he saw that she had killed both of her attackers; but it left him without anything to turn his rage on. Nothing to kill in in vengeance for his mate’s wounds.

But now, the control he had been missing these past few years, even with Anna and Meara both soothing him, was back in place. The world seemed right again. She was his, and he was ashamed to say he was completely and totally hers.

Bran had wanted to tell her, _ I can't love you _ , like he had before. But that was lie he couldn't even tell himself anymore. He knew he would care about her, when he first brought her to Aspen Creek. But over the past several months, it was clear that his feelings for her ran much,  _ much _ deeper than simple care. Love was dangerous; even loving his children was an unavoidable danger. But loving like  _ this _ \- that was a whole different level.

He stroked her soft hair, sighing to himself. It was too late for regret, now. She was a werewolf, an Omega. This past incident aside, he took comfort in knowing that all around her would protect her - and that she could protect herself. It would be alright, he supposed.

His phone rang.

Meara sighed and rolled over, letting him get up. He found his pants on the floor, pulling his phone out from the pockets.

“You were right about it being witches.” Charles said, as soon as he answered. “Although something else beat us to them. By the time we found their hideout something had killed most all of them.”

“Any idea what that something else was?” Bran asked, sitting back on the bed.

“It looks like werewolves - smells like them, a little, but the stink of magic is too strong to trace. Everett’s accounted for all of his pack. It may be our missing wolves.”

Bran rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Most of them - you think there are more witches?”

“The house they were holed up in was set up to host a coven. Thirteen chairs - eight witch bodies. Not including the bodies of some of the missing people.” Charles said.

That bothered Bran. There hadn't been any real covens in centuries, because there were not enough families for it. The real covens, when thirteen witches from thirteen different families came together and shared their power, were a thing of terror. Danger. They were even known to have raised the dead. Bran shivered at the thought; his fists tightened on the sheet.

Meara yawned, sitting up behind him. 

“But it sounds as if you have no trail on these remaining witches.” Bran noted. “Do you know what they were doing with the missing people?”

“No,” Charles sounded annoyed at the notion, “But we’re looking.”

“Tell me when you find something.” Bran said, and he hung up. He frowned at the phone, considering. Perhaps this was worse than he thought. The trouble with witches was that there was always  _ trouble _ .

And he had a bad, bad feeling, stirring in the pit of his stomach.

“Don't go thinking too hard now.” Meara said sleepily. She leaned forward and touched his shoulder. He turned, dropping his phone on the nightstand and kissing her. “It's my job.” He told her, wrapping his arms around her and laying back down. “Someone has to do it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She smiled, pushing him down against the mattress and climbing on top of him. “I'm pretty sure I've heard that before.”

“I recall you yelling at me just before I told you.” He grinned; her hands ran down his chest. “Quite loudly. And with vulgar language.”

“I have a dirty mouth, I'll admit.” Her grin was devilish and playful. “But I promise I'll behave unless you  _ really  _ aren't paying attention.” The flirting was incredibly brazen of her; almost as brazen as where her hands went.

He gripped her hips as her fingers wrapped around him, making him firm and twitching with need. “Oh, I pay attention.” He murmured, one hand sliding over the palm-sized tattoo on her pelvis; a tree, encased in a circle of celtic knotwork, low and central to the point of near obscenity. She rose up with a spark in her eye; came down on him, hard and fast, choking out any other remarks. He found he quite liked her on top. For a control freak, letting her take the lead was a little exhilarating.

She shivered when they finished, falling against his side. “I think I like it when you're bold.” He murmured, kissing her softly. She giggled. “You feel better now, right?”

The unpleasant thoughts about witches were in the back of his mind, for now. Charles could handle it, and would tell him if he was needed.

He kissed her again. “Yes, I do.” She nestled into his arm, sighing with satisfaction. They settled in silence for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms.

* * *

Meara helped clean his room out, changing the sheets and fixing the furniture he'd moved for convenience. She still walked with a bit of a limp, but Bran suspected that was because they'd irritated her wound with all their...activity.

The pack had sensed it, when they became whole as mates. And now, after the past few days of being left completely alone, there was somebody else popping in every few moments. Some congratulated him, with or without words. Other congratulated her; killing two werewolves, even with a little help from a witch, was a feat. 

“A fierce warrioress.” One of the older ones told her, seeking her in Bran’s study. She recognized him, from the pack meeting when Rebecca first came; the seventeen year old with a mad look in his eye. He grinned at her and stroked her cheek. “It must have been nice, dying by your hands. Much softer than the Marrok, more tender than Charles.”

She didn't shy away from his touch, but Bran was watching, so he dropped his hands. “I wasn't being very soft or tender then.” She pointed out absently. “I was kind of angry.”

“Even your rage is a welcomed gift.” He sighed, leaning closer. “I would want you to do it for me. Much more beautiful.”

“That is not her role, Lawrence.” Bran said softly from his desk. “You will not ask such of her.”

But Meara leaned and pet Lawrence’s hand, gently. “If I do, it's when I decide you're ready. You don't get to use me to quit when you get tired. If you want that way out, you go to someone else.” She said, gentle and firm. She smiled. “And I'll know if you try to exaggerate and trick me. I'll make you live a much longer time.”

Lawrence looked at her, more visibly shocked than Bran was. Then he smiled - actually smiled. Sweet sadness with a touch of heartache. “Only for you.” He whispered. He kissed her hand and left the house.

Bran eyed her. “That sort of unpleasantness isn't something you should dirty your hands over.” He told her. “They come to me for that end because that is the safest option. I don't want you taking on that sort of burden. Putting yourself in that sort of danger.”

She knew that his words ran deeper than his just wanting to spare her the shock of killing someone.

“If I have my way,” she told Bran, taking his hand, “none of these old fools will need that for a while. If he's sane enough to make requests like that, than he can wait a long time.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, frowning down at her. “No more promising death to the old fools who come to you.” He said, sternly. “I mean it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure you do.” 

Bran’s brows pinched. “Meara.”

She smiled, kissing him. “Alright.” She murmured. Then she pulled him down onto the persian rug as she freed the buttons of her blouse.

* * *

And then, trouble.

They sensed the ripple in the pack bonds, he more so than she. He stood abruptly and she turned the television off - it was distracting.

“What was that? What's wrong?” She asked, sounding a little winded. Pack magic didn't speak to her often; it left her a little rattled. He held her arm. “Trouble - someone attacked one of our pack.” Bran pulled out his cellphone. He couldn't quite tell who was hurt, but he felt Jonah’s pull. Daniel did not answer, nor did Jonah.

Tag called.

“Werewolves at the chapel. Not ours.” He sounded strange, unsure. “One of them attacked Rebecca, and Daniel took it to defend her. Jonah is holding him back now, and the strangers are holding their own. They demand to see you.”

“Demand?” Bran rumbled, but he and Meara were already out the door and in the SUV. 

“One of them-” Tag made a confused noise, “-looks and smells like Leah. I don’t know if it is her or not, and they won’t explain until you arrive.”

Bran blinked, and Meara grabbed the wheel when the car veered. “Leah? She’s dead.” He said, almost too sharply.

“They won’t tell us if it is her or not.” Tag said. “Not until they see you face to face.”

“Fine.” Bran ground out, and hung up. He took back the wheel, glancing at Meara, and sped down the road. 

When they reached the chapel, Meara jumped out after Bran and went to his side. Jonah and Rebecca, who had a healing cut on her arm, knelt next to Daniel. Jonah’s shoulder blocked his son from leaping forward. Tag stood behind them, looking at Bran with a confused expression.

Bran’s shock was like a slap to the face. She stumbled slightly when his emotions churned and hit her like a tidal wave. The bond had never been this strong before. Shock, grief, remorse, pain - too many others all at once. She grabbed his arm, nostrils flaring - her mate was hurt, so very, very hurt.

He shut her out.

Meara whined involuntarily, distracted from the strangers and the violence. The bond went silent, like someone had slammed a door in her face. From roaring and loud to absolute silence, the sudden disconnect made her feel physically ill. This wasn't like her during the fight; that was more like her putting her hands over her ears. This felt like she'd been shoved out of a building and locked out. But he didn't look at her, couldn't look at her. And when she followed his gaze, she knew why.

She recognized Leah. She'd seen her in pictures, courtesy of Anna and Sage. She looked just the same, sharp and beautiful, but she was paler, thinner, and her hair was sloppily cut to her shoulders. She glared at the ground with her arms crossed, half in front of a shivering, thin looking man.

But the other woman, she didn't know. A woman who looked Native American pure and true; she looked a little like Charles, Meara noticed. The woman was all soft and lush, so beautiful it seemed that she was the personification of the word. She too, was thin and had her hair cut jaggedly to her shoulders, but it did little to detract from the raw, earthly beauty she was. She was the only one who seemed relaxed, out of everyone present. She stood next to a tall man, who held a rather small looking, thin, brown wolf back by the scruff of his neck.

Meara knew who she was before Bran breathed her name. “Blue Jay Woman.”

There was sharp pain in the words, her own pain that came from the ache in her own heart. She could only feel the ghost of an ache from him, from the cracks in the door. 

She pulled her hand away. He didn’t even so much as twitch in acknowledgement.

“Bran.” Blue Jay Woman’s voice was beautiful and low, like the husky beauties from old movies. She smiled. “Bran Cornick. They tell me it has been long.”

Bran’s pain was visible in his face, making it so much stronger than Meara originally thought. “You died.” He said, voice sounding more pained than she ever thought possible. 

Blue Jay Woman nodded. “I did.” 

Daniel snarled when the other wolf shifted. “Enough.” Jonah snapped, but Daniel pressed against his father and ignored him. “Daniel, please.” Rebecca said softly. Meara could see blood dripping down Daniel’s shoulder. The mystery wolf snarled, snapping his teeth at them.

Meara looked again at Leah - and saw the face of the man behind her. 

“Daniel-” Meara said suddenly, stepping around Bran and going to Jonah and his son, “enough.” Meara put herself in front of Daniel and met his eye; she didn’t turn her back to the strangers. “Stop it. Behave.” Focusing on them, keeping Daniel calm and forcing peace, distracted her from the physical ache in her chest.

“That one attacked him.” Jonah said, gesturing to the wolf. His eyes wouldn’t leave man holding him. Rebecca just looked relieved to see her. “He attacked me, and Daniel stepped in to defend me. I don’t know what’s going on - I promise I didn’t do anything.” 

“I know. We’ll find out what all this is when we calm down. Daniel,  _ enough _ .” She said, frowning at him. She felt no peace, no calm right now. But something else filled her words, a power that tasted like the unique, sweet saltiness Bran had. Daniel lowered his head to her immediately, and Jonah relaxed, bowing his head to her.

Leah looked offended, gaping at her. Bran was still staring at Blue Jay Woman; Meara pushed away the hurt as best she could and steeled herself. She bottled the ache up and pulled on her wolf, pulled on the calm she could bring and let her power settled over them. It was weak, half-assed, but the soft growling from the other wolf stopped.

“I know your face.” Meara turned to Leah. “And I know the man behind you. Doctor Eric Jorgensen, correct?”

Hearing his mention, he peeked around Leah. He looked thinner, far more frail than she remembered. His beard was longer, his hair was tangled - he looked the part of a madman. What wasn't hidden by clothe or hair was gaunt and tinged gray.

“Eric?” Meara said again, speaking softly. He made a sad, wounded noise, and the heartbreak she felt from Bran was made worse. “Oh, oh-” Jorgensen shuffled around Leah, wobbling and stiff. Fear tears rolled down his freshly scarred cheeks. “- oh Meara, poor girl, poor dear.” He whimpered, and Meara stepped forward to wrap her arms around him. He was still taller than her, but he was so, so thin. He held her with trembling hands. “You always helped. It hurts, it hurts.” He whispered, leaning and pressing his face against her shoulder. “You help - help, help, help.” 

Meara held him gently. “Eric, you were kidnapped.” She said to him, stroking his back. “Taken. What’s going on?”

Eric leaned back, looking at her with wild, mismatched eyes. “Take, yes - they took and took and killed. Sacrifices for the old to be made new.” He muttered. “Black, black, black, sick magic. Dead walk again. Father Dagon, Mother Hydra - they gave Jillian to them.” The tears streamed again, and she shushed him when he choked out a sob.

Meara throat was tight. “Witches,” she said carefully, looking at Leah, “witches are bringing people - you - back from the dead?”

“If it wasn’t obvious.” Leah snapped. “I take it you’re  _ my _ replacement, then? Of course he would find himself an Omega - he just can’t get enough of those. Must have scraped you out of the bottom of some barrel - you look like a child. Were you broken to bits like Anna was?” 

Bran finally seemed to snap out of his trance, looking away from Blue Jay Woman and to Leah. His expression was sharp and unforgiving. “Leah,” said the strange man holding the wolf, “not now.” His voice was thick with the welsh in him.

Leah snarled at him, but kept her mouth shut. 

The man looked oddly familiar. His hair was brown and his eyes were hazel, and there was a refined delicacy to his features that Meara knew from somewhere. “Bran Cornick,” he said to Bran, eyes downcast, “we have come to you. For help.” 

“Attacking my people.” Bran said to the man. “That’s a strange way of asking for help.” 

The man smiled. “The witch startled us. We meant no harm to yours - but we are currently hiding from witches, and when Adda nosed her, he reacted out of fear.” 

Bran looked down at the wolf named Adda, frowning. The name was familiar. “It sounds like your Adda lacks control.” 

“Are we seriously doing this?” Leah seemed to be unable to hold her temper. “Your little  _ pup _ here just said witches are raising the dead. I thought it was pretty clear from my being here that  _ we _ are some of those dead.” 

Bran frowned at Leah. She kept her eyes down. “We came here because we need your help, and you need ours.” She said sharply. “Against these witches. We just fled from them, from Houston.”

Meara glanced at Bran, but he didn’t look at her. Charles had just called about Houston - this wasn’t a coincidence. 

“Safe here.” Eric spoke up, leaning against Meara. “Safe, safe, safe. Can’t find us here, won’t follow us here - no no no -” He wasn’t crying anymore. He pat her cheeks with a gentle fondness and stroked her hair. Bran glanced at him, looking more uncomfortable than he already was; but he made no move to pull his mate away from the man.

That stung, too. The more she hurt, the harder it was to keep herself together. 

“Something in Aspen Creek keeps the witches from finding us.” Blue Jay Woman spoke, gently. Bran flinched at her voice. “Some force or power. Part of it is you - they will not tread into your territory. Not yet.”

“Why?” He said, unable to look at her. 

“Because they brought back your mother.” The strange man said shortly. “And she knows coming so close to you will be her last mistake in her new life.” 

Despite how tightly he was shutting her out, Meara felt the shock from that. The fear and horror. She felt the sharp urge to go to him, to hold him - but, much to her sadness, she felt that the last thing he wanted was for her to touch him. Bran was very still, staring at the man with a hard frown. 

Adda made a noise, half a growl and a whine. He was looking at Meara now, pulling on the man’s arms. Daniel growled. 

“I know you.” Said Bran, slowly. The man nodded. “The last name she gave me was David.” He murmured, soft and heartfelt. 

Bran sucked in a breath. David smiled sadly, looking at Bran with a fondness that Meara once saw in her mother’s eyes. “It is a shame things have turned the way they have, my son.”  _ That _ shocked Meara. “We have much we need to tell you.” 

“So it seems.” Bran said softly.

“So much to learn - so many secrets - they want to change it all.” Eric grabbed Meara’s shoulders tightly. “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. They want to make it untrue” He said to her. He shook her, hard, hissing between his teeth. Daniel turned and snarled at him, and Adda the wolf did too.

Meara went pale. “He keeps saying that gibberish as if it means something.” Leah said coldly. “But he’s the one who helped us escape.”

Meara peeled Eric’s hands off her shoulders, holding them tightly. Daniel growled again, but this time, Rebecca was the one to shush him. “Talk, talk, talk.” Eric chanted, over and over. “Talk to you. Talk to the Marrok. Tell them everything!” He repeated himself, over and over.

“He never shuts up.” Leah mumbled, under the ranting. 

“Eric,” Meara cooed, “be quiet.”

The man shut his mouth immediately. He leaned against her side and smiled like a fool, still holding her hands. Leah frowned at her. 

“Talk.” Bran pinched the bridge of his nose. “We must talk.” He glanced up at the chapel, before turning to Tag. “You have your car?” 

“Yes.” Tag pointed, showing his truck by the treeline. It looked like he’d parked in a hurry. “Good. We’ll take them to the motel. Jonah, take Rebecca and Daniel home.” 

Daniel seemed reluctant, but Rebecca whispered to him, pleading softly, and he pressed tightly to her side as they went to Jonah’s truck. Jonah hesitated. “Shall I take Meara home, as well?” He asked his alpha, glancing at David and Adda once more. He seemed more uncomfortable leaving Meara with these strangers, who had attacked his son, than leaving his alpha alone with them. 

There was something else. Something sharp and almost aggressive in his tone, like he was displeased with his alpha. Meara forgot; she was an Omega. And she was hurting. Jonah knew Bran was making her hurt, even if it was unintentional. That made Jonah angry with Bran. 

“No.” Meara snapped, before Bran could answer. “I’m fine where I am.” And now, she openly looked at Bran, daring him to send her away. Like  _ hell _ she’d go and sit. She was his mate. The alpha’s mate had as much responsibility as the alpha. She wouldn't be pushed away like that. Not with all this and with Eric here.

She refused to leave him with  _ her _ here.

“She’s fine. I’ll need her. Tag will stay with us.” Bran said, conceding. Jonah looked reluctant, nodding. 

The mystery wolves had a minivan that Meara suspected was stolen; Leah said firmly she’d follow Bran. She knew her way around. Eric stayed clinging to Meara, but David and Blue Jay Woman loaded into the van with Adda. Meara buckled Eric into the back seat, and after a moment, she slid in next to him. 

Bran didn’t speak to her. She held Eric’s hand, forcing herself to swallow her tears and keep herself together.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the short story 'Silver' stuff from here on out kind of spoils a lot of it. You should be able to find the Shifting Shadows anthology online - it's well worth the purchase, if you want a copy.

Room one of the Aspen Creek motel was a safe room, that was specially designed for wolves who were uncooperative or out of control. The door was reinforced metal, the dead bolt operated by key from both sides; windows are barred and the vents were sealed. The sparse - a bed and nightstand - furniture was bolted down and permanently fixed to the wall. The only seemingly normal thing about the room was the bland wallpaper and the connected bathroom.

The room seemed small and ill-equipped to deal with five werewolves and a madman. Meara figured if Bran was really worried, he’d put them in the cells in the basement of his house. But for now, he seemed content enough to keep them there.

“None of us will need this room.” Leah told Bran sharply; she seemed to be the leader of the group, although she was not the most dominant. In fact, without Bran’s shared dominance, she was the lesser wolf of the group, save for Adda. It took Meara a moment to realize that Adda was a submissive. David and Blue Jay Woman were by far the most dominant, though who was more so than whom she could not tell.

“Shall I throw caution to the wind, then?” Bran said to Leah, uncharacteristically sharp. She glared at his feet, but didn’t respond.

Plastic chairs were set around the room. David goaded Adda onto the bed and sat next to him, one hand firmly on his back. Bran stood by the door while Blue Jay Woman and Leah sat opposite of him. Meara guided Eric into the chair beside the nightstand. The door stayed open, Tag’s bulk hanging outside to block it.

Samuel was there, too. He leaned silently against the wall by the door. Bran had called while they drove here; and by the looks of Samuel's reaction to the introductions, he knew David - Bran’s father - and the rest well. Meara had to remember that Samuel was Bran’s first born child; perhaps Samuel was a lot older than she thought.

“So talk.” Bran refused to sit, but Meara picked up one of the chairs and sat nearest him, in front of where the window was supposed to be. She put her hands in her lap and her eyes stayed firmly on the ground; she couldn't bring herself to look at Blue Jay Woman.

Bran’s two former wives seemed to share her sentiments. They looked everywhere but her; mostly at Bran.

“A cult of witches have risen the dead.” David explained. “To serve some strange gods of theirs.”

“Father Dagon, Mother Hydra - oh Jillian -” Eric mumbled. Meara shushed him gently.

David nodded. “We do not know the full extent of their plans. We know they have sacrificed many people for this spell to work as many times as it has. They started with your mother - pieced her new flesh with sacrifices of witchblood. Then they pulled us, Adda and I and two others, using the old bonds to help make us her pets once more. She taught them her spell so that they could feed off werewolves they had captive. So they could be immortal as she once was.”

There were three missing werewolves, Meara remembered. Hopefully they were still alive; witch pets, but alive.

“But we were not enough. Death had robbed her of most of her power. She used too much from the other two, and killed them quickly. They needed more. So they dug for bodies in _your_ past - your bond to these wolves, even if it was broken with death, was enough to let the witch easily ensnare them as pets. She would have taken more, but Eric here disturbed their spell. They sacrificed his daughter, and he went raving mad. Did some sort of magic of his own.”

“Is he witchblood?” Samuel asked.

David shrugged. Eric shook his head, mumbling in a language they couldn't understand. “I don't think he is.” Meara answered, even though no one looked to her for it. Bran had forgotten she knew him, from before. “But he has some magic. Not witch magic, but something more like a wizard, I think.”

“Whatever he is, he broke the witch’s control on Blue Jay Woman first.” David said. “Then me. Between the two of us we were able to catch her off guard and break her hold on the rest. Then we killed as many as we could - she, unfortunately, escaped, with a few other witches and the other wolf pets.”

“What are they planning? And how have they enough power, even with all the sacrifices, to bring back dead as old as you? You don’t look like you were put in a different body.” Bran asked, frowning at David. Adda made a small whine; he stared at Meara, shuffling across the sheets towards her on his belly. She offered him a small, polite smile.

“They have a book. It gives them the power and the ritual they need.” David said. “They protect it fiercely. A witch has it chained to her at all times, and they put several spells to protect it from harm. Whatever it gives them, it requires many people to fuel - their pain and their deaths.”

“The missing people.” Meara said, frowning at Bran over her shoulder. He didn’t look at her. “Over the past few months, dozens of people have gone missing all across the country. Now we know why they’re going missing. The witches are taking them to use as sacrifices.” She explained to David, trying not to look hurt when Bran ignored her. David frowned at her, looking like he was searching for something in her face

“Only touched may understand - you shouldn’t be a werewolf. Wrong. Wrong.” He was looking at Meara now, nodding and not blinking. She tilted her head, but kept silent.

“That's still a hard leap, even with some mystery book to give them power. Even the real covens, from when there were enough old families, could never raise dead such as this.” Samuel piped up, arms crossed.

“Evil, wrong,” Eric mumbled, swaying in his seat, “ _Al azif, Abdullah Alḥa ẓred.”_

“We suspect he has most of the answers you'll need,” David gestured sadly, “But something ails his mind. We cannot make sense of him most usually.”

Meara frowned at Eric. He looked at her. “Necronomicon. Necronomicon.” He said quickly, teeth snapping loudly together.

Meara knew the name. She kept her features smooth and her mouth shut.

“So witches are raising the dead, killing people by the dozens, and the only one who really understands what's going on is a madman.” Samuel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Excellent.”

“Why, this is madness, Alice!” Eric said, raising his voice to some mockery of a little girl. He pat his cheeks and swayed. Samuel glared at him.

“We know raising the dead isn't the worst of their plans, but we don’t know much else. Right now, the ones who escaped, are going to find somewhere safe to settle again and collect more pawns. They will probably go for more werewolves.” Blue Jay Woman said. Her voice was warm, because she was speaking to Bran, but there was a fear in it. Meara could sense Bran wanted to go to her, and comfort her.

 _Mine,_ her wolf growled, but she pushed the wolf away. This wasn't the time. They had to be smart right now.

“There is something they want to accomplish. They spoke of a goal, of something they wanted to see unleashed.”

“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn! Make it untrue!” Eric said loudly. Meara cast him a hard look, and he put his hands over his mouth, sitting up straight.

“We don't know what that means, but we think it's the answer to what this something is.” Blue Jay Woman said softly. “We thought it was just madness speaking, but now we think it is a language we just do not understand.”

“Cthulhu sounds familiar.” Samuel said with a frown. Eric looked at him with wide eyes, nodding; his hands stayed over his mouth. “It's from this fiction work. Some eldritch horror stuff. Lovecraft was the name.”

“That guy was crazy, wasn’t he?” Leah frowned.

Eric looked at Bran for a moment. He’d been quiet; thinking, considering things over. Meara sighed and gave in to Eric’s knowing gaze. “The phrase means _‘In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.’_ It’s R’lyehian - a language in Lovecraft’s fiction world.” She kept her eyes down and rubbed her hands together. “I’ve read all of his works. I know a lot of the stuff by heart. You said they wanted to make it untrue?” She turned to Eric, meeting his eye. He nodded.

“Dagon and Hydra are from Lovecraft, too.” She continued. “Great old ones. In the books, their cults often worship Cthulhu as well.”

“Sounds like you know a bit.” Leah leaned, glaring at Meara.

“I’ve read the books. Reading tends to make you do that - know a bit.” Meara bit back, temper falling short. “If they want to make the phrase untrue, then they probably want to awaken Cthulhu. In the books, his awakening is basically the end of the world. Apocalypse. I know witches are out of their minds, but that’s utterly self-destructive.”

“If this is all real,” David said carefully, “would it be possible for the witches to be planning to control this creature?”

Eric laughed, loudly. Meara shushed him, and shook her head. “No.” She said plainly. “The way these things are described, they’re literally like gods. When humans even come into contact with a depiction of one of them, like a painting or a sculpture, it could drive them mad. Controlling one of these things, controlling Cthulhu - no.”

“This is all theoretical, though.” Samuel said, half a question, half a statement. Meara nodded, rubbing her hands together nervously. Bran was still silent. “We need to be certain of a few things first, before we do anything else. Are you _certain_ the witch’s hold on you is broken? She can’t call you to her?” Samuel stepped forward.

“Not us. I have not much of my father’s gifts left in me, but what I have paired with Eric’s power burned her magic from us.” Blue Jay Woman said, gesturing to herself and Leah. “But her ties to Adda and David are strong, and we are unsure.”

“It was a fae that broke her hold on me in earnest.” Samuel said. Meara turned, looking at him as he came around his father and stood on the other side of her. That meant Samuel was nearly as old as Bran, however old that was. He sounded pained, remembering the time, and Meara instinctively reached and touched his arm. She had a feeling that fae wasn’t alive anymore. He glanced at Bran. “But da -”

“I had to kill her to be free.” Bran finished shortly. He put his hands in his pockets and frowned at David. “And it seems I will have to do so once more.”

“There is perhaps something left, some hollow strings of her power.” David put a hand to his chest, as if he could actually feel the magic as he spoke of it. “But that is why we came here. She fears you, and there is another form of power that shelters this place from them.”

“She can’t call here.” Eric said to David, reaching and attempting to pet Adda. The wolf shied away from his frail, trembling hand. “She can’t reach here. I can’t hear them anymore. Safe, safe, safe place.”

“What keeps it safe? You have yet to tell us.” David asked. He spoke gently to Eric, like he was speaking to a child. Eric sighed. “Curiouser and curiouser - many secrets. Not mine, not mine.” He shook his head.

“You don’t know.” Meara clarified. Eric sighed again.

“Alright - alright. Enough.” Bran said. He looked pointedly at David. “You and the wolf will stay in this room. With the madman.”

Adda whined. “Doesn’t like me.” Eric said softly. He leaned and put his hand on Meara’s knee. “I’ve miss you.” He said, sadly.

Bran was looking at Blue Jay Woman and Leah, ignoring Eric. “You two will stay in another room, and wait. Charles is investigating the witch lair in Houston - he will bring what he finds here and we will see what answers we will have.”

Blue Jay Woman seemed to straighten a little, mentioning her son. “He will meet you soon enough.” Bran said, softer. He turned and looked pointedly at Tag - and not at Meara.

“Take Meara back to the house.” He instructed Tag. “And stay there with her while I finish things here with Samuel.”

Tag nodded, but he was frowning. Meara stood, abruptly, and couldn’t help the horribly _hurt_ look she gave Bran. David and Blue Jay Woman frowned; Leah was unreadable. “But she helps. Stay, stay!” Eric whined softly, holding her hand. Bran refused to look at Meara. “Now.” He told Tag. Samuel raised a brow.

“Come on, honey.” Tag said softly. “You heard the boss man.”

“Oh, I _heard_ him.” She said, voice cracking. She bit back any extra remarks, squeezing Eric’s hand. Then she breezed past Bran, her chin out and eyes forward, and stalked out of the room ahead of Tag. Bran didn’t even watch her leave; everyone else did. Samuel frowned at his father, but wisely remained silent. Eric whimpered when she was gone, curling on the floor by David’s feet and rocking back and forth.

* * *

“So, what, you went and found yourself something easier to control? She looks like she’s still in diapers.” Leah couldn’t resist the jab, snide. She crossed her arms.

Blue Jay Woman cast her an unreadable look. Bran glared at Leah - and she dropped her gaze immediately. “I do not care what has happened, or what is happening.” He told her, coldly. “Do not disrespect my mate.”

“Like you let _everyone else_ disrespect _me?_ ” Leah snapped at the floor. “Did you tell her? Tell her that she’s the replacement of a replacement - a convenient collection of holes to stand in for _her_?!” Leah stood, a sign of outright aggression and a testament to the serious issues that even death could not fix between them. She didn’t point to Blue Jay Woman - who watched her intently, now, brows pinched. “I bet you did. With how hurt she looked - you couldn’t even look at her. You were too busy drooling over the love of your fucking life!”

“Enough!” Bran’s voice was loud and sharp, like a clap. His fury swept over the room, knocking Leah and everyone else to their knees. Eric whined with Adda - Samuel braced against the wall, forcing himself to stand upright. “Enough - this is not the time for you to bemoan over what was. You made your decision - in the beginning and the end. Do _not_ \- **_not_ ** \- speak such ill to or of my mate again.”

He took a step back. “I have called two of my pack to stay here until I come back. You will not leave, any of you, until I say otherwise. Any need you have, you will tell them.” His words came out as a growl. Then he turned and walked out. He went straight to the SUV, Samuel following a few paces behind. He needed to calm down, to sit down and think about what was going on.

“Bran.”

Blue Jay Woman stepped out of the door, eyes down and body relaxed. He stopped, turning to her. Samuel paused, but went to his own car and waited in the driver’s seat.

Blue Jay Woman came and took his hand. “I understand time is short.” She said, gentle and soft. Once, the tenderness in her would balm him, make him feel better. Now, it just made everything in him ache. “But, once we have a better grasp of this situation, I would like to speak to you.” She smiled at him, holding his eyes. She reached up and stroked his cheek, leaving warmth and sharp pain in the wake of her soft hand. “I need to speak to you.” She clarified.

“Yes.” He breathed, putting his hands on her waist and squeezing - almost painfully tight. He was too conflicted, too confused. Too hurt. “Yes, we need to speak. But I must take care of mine, first.” He said. She cupped his face, stroking his cheeks with her thumb. Her eyes were warm and focused on him. The wolf didn’t mind her gaze.

For a moment, the world was different. They stood in a lush forest, no city or car for miles. It was just them, in their buckskins and furs, with the moon over their heads and the world beneath their feet. Bran had his Blue Jay Woman - his mate, the love of his life. The woman who was his everything. He would have given her the world, and she would have given him the same.

But she had died. And things had changed. His wolf reminded him of that angrily - Blue Jay Woman was not his mate anymore. Meara was.

He withdrew himself from her.

“Later. When things are settled. Perhaps after Charles has returned - there is much to be done, and I need his help.” Charles would probably be home by tomorrow, once Bran called and actually had a chat with him. He’d already spoke to his son’s mind, when he’d called to Samuel, and told him of the new development - briefly.

“Yes, that seems best.” Blue Jay Woman folded her hands and smiled - that beautiful, beautiful smile. She turned and went back to the room, closing the door behind her.

“I’ll meet you at the house.” Samuel said to Bran, nodding with his eyes down. “I’m going to check on Jonah and Daniel real quick.”

Bran nodded, climbing into his SUV with tight limbs. He squeezed the steering wheel a little too tightly, slammed the door a little too hard.

He kept the mate bond sealed as tightly as he could. His hurt, his pain - he would not put that on Meara. He did not want to hurt her more by forcing her to feel the love he felt for someone else. And perhaps, in some small, horrible way, he was keeping himself withdrawn from her, so he could not feel her own pain. 

Leah had been right, and that had made him angrier. As soon as he saw Blue Jay Woman, he couldn’t look at Meara. Couldn’t bear to see her face. Even though it enraged the wolf to watch the madman pet his mate, to hold her and cling to her possessively, he couldn’t bring himself to so much as breathe a word on it. He was too distracted. Too hurt.

The beast stirred. He grit his teeth. The last time he’d been this unsettled -  Leah had drowned herself in the river.

He passed the chapel. The dead rising - his dead, from centuries and centuries ago. The witch - _the damned witch_ , his mother. The one thing he feared more than anything else in this world. She had made him a monster in more ways than one. And he had killed her.and eaten her. Destroyed her.

But now she was back. The thought made his skin crawl and his stomach churn. His whole pack was in danger; not just Aspen Creek, but all under his care. All of North America. And she had friends who were helping her - in spite of the laws the witches had in place. Mad witches were almost as bad as his mother.

All of the packs would be on lock down - not a single wolf out alone, no less than three in a group, he decided. Every alpha would have every wolf in his home and accounted for. He would have to call Adam and tell him. Warn him. Warn his Mercy.

Death was always on his mind, but this time it was different. Perhaps it was finally his time, too. These long, long centuries of him might finally be leading to a close.

First, he reminded himself, we kill the damn witch. For good.


	16. Chapter 16

Meara turned and glared at Tag.

“He told me to stay.” Tag said gently to her, standing in the doorway with his hands at his sides. “Until he gets back.”

He was trying to be calm, to be gentle. Meara was crying, hard tears that spilled down her chin and stained her shirt. “I heard him, Tag. I heard him talk over my head and saw him pretend I wasn't there. I don’t _care_. Go away.” She snapped, giving him a push. Tag was much taller than her, and outweighed her by a bit. But she was a werewolf, and she was able to shove him back a step.

He grabbed her arm. “Please - I understand. But you shouldn’t be alone right now.” He said to her, his eyes becoming bright. Her pain and hurt was rolling off her in potent waves, fraying at his control.

“Get _out!_ Go away, Colin!” She yelled at him. “Leave me alone!”

This time he let her push him out onto the porch, and stayed there when she slammed the door in his face. She locked it for good measure. Riding the wave of anger, she dragged a lounge chair from the living room and blocked the door.

She listened to Tag sigh and slump on the porch, sitting on the floor against the door. She wanted him to leave - but he wouldn’t disobey Bran.

Meara sniffled, wiping her cheeks. Barricading the door felt like a stupid idea, but the small, smug satisfaction she weaned from it had her turn and keep the door as it was.

She shouldn't be this hurt, the logical, calculating part of her scolded. She knew all along. Understood her position from the moment he told her. But, her wolf snarled, strangely vocal, he was _her_ mate.

 _My mate,_ the wolf spoke louder than the sparse whispers she’d heard before. _He is ours. How dare he._

Bran was _still_ shutting her out. The emptiness left a physical pain in her chest, one that throbbed and made breathing hurt. It would have been one thing to just ignore her; but he near completely detached himself from her. He pushed her out and pretended she wasn't there. Instead, he spent the whole time looking at _her_. At Blue Jay Woman.

Jealousy tasted sour. Meara took herself to the kitchen and washed her face. “Focus, focus,” she chanted, “Focus on the problem at hand.”

But the wolf did not want to focus. It fought her, pushing against her restraints with a sudden and wild heave. Meara stumbled, falling to the floor. Her body creaked and ached - the wolf wanted to be in control, and she wanted to be on four legs.

“No, stop - we can't -” Meara gasped, heart racing. She and her wolf - they'd never been in conflict like this before. Only in those first few months did she feel any unrest. But that was when the wolf was new and wild. This was not then.

The wolf raged in her. _We will show him he is ours. Show them,_ she snarled, _he will not betray us._

The wolf was jealous and angry - and unusually autonomous. Meara was jealous, but now she was just lonely and scared. She was an _Omega._ She wasn't supposed to feel such... _violence_ . She wasn't supposed to be so _wrong._

Tag called her name. She hissed under her breath. “We can't help if you do this. Can't make them right like we’re supposed to.”

The logic curbed the wolf’s anger a little. Her body relaxed, and Meara was able to breathe normally. She sagged a little.

How dramatic, she mused sourly.

“Meara?” Tag called again, sensing her distress.

“If you keep talking I'll make you go away.” She yelled. She didn't want him knowing what was wrong with her. It would make things worse.

Tag went silent. Meara pushed herself to her feet and leaned on the counter. She heard the SUV pull up as she splashed her face with cold water.

“She's locked the door. Think she pushed a chair in front of it.” Tag told Bran. “She’s not alright.” She dried her face and closed her eyes. The kitchen smelled of her distress; fear and pain. She fumbled, drying off the counter. For some reason, she didn't want Bran to know she was upset. To know she and her wolf were wrong. The thought both scared her and shamed her.

“Go home, Tag.” Bran told him. She heard Tag’s truck start up as she scrambled for the stairs. In a moment of fear, she half expected Bran to break down the door. She could smell his rage, taste its icy waves as they seeped through the walls.

He sighed, and walked around the side of the porch.

She waited at the top of the stairs. She couldn't hear him walking, which meant he was absolutely in a foul mood. The back door opened, and she heard him pause in the kitchen. Then she heard the chair being moved away from the door and the latch being unlocked.

She hid herself around the corner of the wall, by their bedroom doors. She heard him walk to the stairs; he was making his footsteps known now. She wanted him to come up, to chase her upstairs and talk to her. To let her back in.

 _Please_ , her heart whispered.

Instead he sighed again and retreated to his study.

Meara wiped the fresh tears from her cheeks and went to her room. She curled up against the pillows and closed her eyes. Too much.

* * *

Charles and Anna arrived home early in the morning. They came straight to the house and found Bran in his study, on the floor. His fireplace was lit and burning a low flame. It was obvious he hadn’t slept at all last night. Anna touched his arm, but he could only glance at her.

Samuel came from the guest room and they set to work immediately, relocating to the dining room for the table space. The FBI was still trying to trace where the surviving witches had gone, but progress was slow and bumpy. They were actively sharing any new information with Charles, and he wanted to go over everything he could with the mystery wolves to shed some light on the investigation.

The alphas had already been contacted by Bran; all across the continent, every single werewolf should be secured with their pack by now. Anna and Samuel set about calling each alpha, both checking on head counts and weaning for information and ideas as to where the witches had gone.

Bran called Adam. He’d called last night and warned him, but now he wanted to see what help Adam might be able to supply.

“We contacted the Fae after you called us.” Adam told Bran. “And the Grey Lords have been decidedly willing to help stop this. Apparently, more of their people have been taken than they originally led us to believe.”

“It would make sense for the witches to find fae or half-fae.” Bran noted. “More power. The FBI found that many of the first dozen or so people were mostly witchblood.”

“And now they’re taking werewolves.” Adam tacked on. He sighed; Bran could hear Mercy standing nearby, somewhere in Adam’s office. “I’ll dig through our contacts. Ask the fae to see if they can trace the witches. We’ll call you with what we come across.”

“Thank you.” Bran said, and Adam hung up. It was hard, not having them in his pack. Not knowing if they were safe. They - Mercy - were always going to be his, even if he was forced to abandon them.

His phone buzzed moments later, right as Anna finished checking up with Silver Pete in Alaska. It was Henry, one of the wolves Bran had asked to stay over the motel. “The madman has been whining all night.” Henry said, sounding tired. “And now he’s demanding to see Meara. The other wolf, David, is asking too.”

Bran didn’t want to think about the crazy man or his seeming obsession with Meara. He didn’t want to think about Meara. “No.” Bran said shortly, and hung up.

Samuel and Charles continued their work, but Anna was watching him with a frown. “Doctor Jorgensen was her professor when she was younger, right?” She asked, glancing at the stairs. They’d been at this for a few hours, and Meara hadn’t come down once.

“Yes.” Bran didn’t want to talk about that right now, and it was obvious. But Anna either didn’t take the hint or didn’t care.

“Wouldn’t it be a good idea, to let him talk to her? If he knows more, he’s more likely to tell her, right? Especially if he’s asking for her.” Anna said, leaning against the table.

Bran gave her a sharp look. “She’ll be staying out of this.” He told her. “And I won’t be bending to a madman’s wishes.”

Anna frowned at him. The words were wrong, but honest. Instead of responding, though, she went back to her work.

Around lunch time, Bran took Charles to the motel. Samuel stayed and continued to contact the alphas - there were a lot of them. Anna, however, went upstairs and knocked on Meara’s door. “It’s Anna.” She said, pushing it open and peeking her head in.

Meara was sitting cross legged on the foot of her bed. She looked tired, with circles beginning to form under her eyes and the rosiness drained from her cheeks. Bran had said Meara was nearly completely healed from her fight, but now, she looked ill.

She smiled at Anna. She set aside the laptop Bran had gifted her last month and scoot over so Anna could sit next to her. “How are you feeling? You were pretty rough shape last time I saw you.” Anna sat an arm around her, hugging her close.

“I’m fine.” Meara said, and she visibly winced at the lie. “I’m...I’ve healed from the fight. I’m over that.” She said, softly.

“But now you’re not alright.” Anna supplied. Meara’s face was tight. She shook her head and smiled up at Anna, sadly. “It doesn't matter, for now. I’ve had my little fit of drama,” she smoothed her hair back, “and I just want to focus on what’s going on.”

“It does matter.” Anna told her, sharp but caring. Meara shrugged. “My heart’s going to break no matter what I say about this. But I knew what I was getting into. Whatever he decides between us, I’ll...I’ll accept it.”

“Decides?” Anna gave her an incredulous look. “You don’t think he’s going to toss you aside? You’re his _mate_.”

Meara rubbed her eyes. For a moment, Anna only saw a little girl, with no family left and no one to care for her. Anna wrapped a hand around Meara’s knee, tight. “I’m a mate he doesn’t love - can’t love. But the mate he did love, the woman he still loves, is alive again. He...he shut me out as soon as he saw her. Hasn’t looked at me, hasn't spoken to me. He couldn’t stop staring at her yesterday.” She shook her head. “I’m not stupid. You’re not stupid. I’m not going to jump to conclusions, but I’m not going to be delusional about this, either.”

Meara turned her head away. Her body was tense, her jaw was tight. She shook her head and pat Anna’s hand. “I don’t want to talk about this. Let’s focus on what’s going on.” She said to Anna, firm and with a nod.

Anna sighed and conceded. Meara didn’t want to talk about this, but by god would Anna have words with Bran.

* * *

Bran left Charles to meet Blue Jay Woman. He went to room one, passing the room Leah was staying in. There was no point in hashing things out with her again. There was nothing to discuss - she had made her choices, and not even coming back from the dead would change that.

He nodded to Henry as he passed him. Henry was propped in a plastic lawn chair, legs up on the white, steel table they kept outside the motel.

He knocked once before walking into room one. Adda growled at the sight of him, scampering away from the door and retreating to where David sat by the bed. Jorgensen was curled up on the floor, muttering under his breath. Bran ignored him. He took one of the chairs from by the window and sat, relaxing.

David raised a brow. Adda stopped growling. “What more have you come to ask me?” David asked. He knew Bran wouldn't want to talk to the human.

“Not much.” Bran admitted. Coming here was an...oddly sentimental move. To see his father and talk to him about the time that had long since passed. “I wanted to know how much of the end you remember. The forest lord, the fae.”

David made an absent noise. “I remember very little, after she completely ensnared me and the others. I remember it took her longer, harder, to trap me as she did the rest of my sons.” He leaned forward on his knees. Adda rested his head on David’s foot with a sigh. “I remember when she found you and your son. I remember Changing you both. That memory stands out the most.”

Bran’s own memory of the occasion had blurred with the passing of time, but he still remembered it quite clearly. Standing in Samuel's hut when the witch came to the door. She'd had the beast - David - attack him first. Clever.

“After that, there was little of me left. Too many years, too much of her poison. Too many of my children to watch rot and die in front of me.” David shook his head. “I was lost. I know I was.”

“I knew it, too.” Bran said gently. “Adda had been her last to feed from. You let him fester and rot away for a long while. I knew there was no human left, if you would let your favorite son die so slowly. In the end I had to snap his neck. End the suffering.”

“I remember the rage.” David murmured. “At you. I can't recall what I was angry about - perhaps your disobedience. You were always stronger than I was. Even when I resisted her, when I loved her - that was why she feared you most of all.”

Bran didn't respond. Adda watched him with sad eyes. He didn't remember his brother’s face anymore. Only the color of his fur had been familiar.

“I remember dying. She sent us to that forest lord.” David said. “But that was her mistake. Her hold broke - mostly. I remember seeing you fight the beast, with the rest. And I wanted to protect you.”

“You died protecting me and my son.” Bran supplied with a nod. If David and the rest of the old pack had not broken free when he and Samuel had; had the witch not lost her grip on them when she had, they would have died facing the old forest lord.

“At least I managed to do that once, for all those long years I lived.” David sighed. “I should have killed her myself. Instead, my burden fell to you. They - Leah and Blue Jay Woman - have mentioned some of your tale in passing.” David said carefully.

Bran hesitated. Then he told his father everything. He didn't want any sort of advice. Paternal support or any compassion. He just felt...it wasn't relieving, but it cleared his mind a little, telling his father his tale. David listened quietly; even Eric was quiet as he spoke, arms around his knees.

“Blue Jay Woman and Leah have spoken a little of their times with you.” David noted absently. “And now this new mate of yours - Meara, was it?”

Bran nodded, a little stiff at the mention. Meara - who he was hurting more than he ever hurt Leah right now.

“She is different.” David said gently. “Something about her eases things. The wolf - none of us have been right, being back from death. But she made things feel better.”

“Help, help, she's always been such a good helper…” Eric murmured, picking at the thread of his jeans.

“Omega.” Bran said. “My son, Charles, has an Omega for a mate, as well. She is different from any other kind of wolf. Not dominant as you or I, not submissive as Adda. Omegas bring peace, calm. They soothe the beasts and calm the human at the same time.”

“So you chose her after Leah - to calm this beast borne of your mother’s death?” David asked.

Bran shook his head. “I didn't choose her, although what she was already helped.” He said, tiredly. “She didn't choose me, either, at first. The mate bond formed on its own - how, I still don't know. In the end I decided to keep her as my mate, and she agreed.” And now look where they were.

“But you do not love her.” David said. “As you did not Leah.”

Bran didn't answer.

“She was hurting.” David murmured, frowning more to himself. “It angered me - the wolf. We wanted to kill to protect her, but we did not know what made her hurt.”

Bran closed his eyes. “That is the Omega - we around her are driven to protect her. The instinct is stronger in the more powerful wolves.” He explained. “That's why I won't let her come here. There's no preventing her hurt right now, and she would cause unrest for the lot of you.”

“Your fault.” Eric whispered, accusingly.

“Yes.” Bran held back the wolf that wanted to attack the madman. Something about Eric Jorgensen disturbed him. When he spoke it made Bran’s wolf angry. When he touched Meara…

“But there's no helping it now.” Bran said. “She knew what she getting into, and she still understands. But that doesn't mean this is easy.”

Adda whined. “For either of you.” David pointed out.

Bran smiled. That was the end of the conversation.

Eventually, Charles and Blue Jay Woman came back to the room, Leah in tow. He pulled his briefcase from the car and set out the evidence he had from the FBI. David, Leah, and Blue Jay Woman filled in several blanks. They remembered some of the faces, some of the victims that they’d seen be butchered for power. They saw other things, too.

Eric had crawled over at one point. He was sitting on the floor beside the table, occasionally peeking his head up so that his nose just rested on the table surface. He pointed at pages at random, muttering madness and nodding his head in broken, twitchy intervals. David sighed. “This is why we asked your wolves for your mate to come back.” He said, ignoring the way Leah scowled and Blue Jay Woman looked sharply at him. “She made sense of him.”

“No.” Bran said. “But if an Omega helps him speak clearly, then Anna could come and help him.”

Eric made a noise. He rocked on the floor. “No, no, no. Meara, Meara, on the wall.” He shook his head. “I don’t want anyone else. I want her.”

“No.” Bran said plainly.

Eric looked up at him. He held Bran’s gaze - something that made the wold simmer with rage. “Precious, she is.” He said, eyes going wider with each passing second. “Fourteenth birthday. She helps because she is precious. She knows. She’s smarter than you think. Clever girl, clever girl. Best student.” He buried his face in his hands. “Curse you - she shouldn’t be wolf. Wrong.” He broke off in a whisper.

Bran closed his eyes, pushing the wolf back. It was hard, with the mate bond choked and the situation around him. “I will discuss the evidence with her. How it relates to Lovecraft, since she knows it well enough.”

Eric kept his hands over his eyes and grinned. “Where is Adda?” He teased.

The room fell silent. David stood, looking wildly. The wolf had been curled up on the bed earlier, behind David and Leah. He hadn’t been sleeping, but he was still and quiet. Now he was gone, and the door was ever so slightly opened.

David burst outside. Henry stood, and the other pack member, Robert, stepped out of the office, confused. He looked around, eyes wide and angry. Then he took a deep, deep breath. Bran scented it, too. Why hadn’t he nosed it earlier?

“Magic.” Blue Jay Woman murmured. “Eric’s magic. Why would you let him leave, Eric?”

Bran stood, blocking David when he lunged at Eric. “He needs help.” Eric sang. “She helps. She helps.” It was the truth - but not the reason he’d let Adda loose.  
“How would he find her in unfamiliar territory?” David snarled over Bran’s shoulder, eyes down. He kept a good two feet of distance between himself and his son; he knew who was the more dominant wolf here.

Eric rolled under the table with a cackle for a laugh, putting his hands flat on the underside over his head. He was looking at Bran. “I showed him the way - help he needs. Witch scares. Too much fear.” Eric said gently. “She’ll find him. I gave him a bell.”

“I’ll call Samuel.” Charles said softly, standing. The motion disturbed David, who turned wildly to Charles. Taking it as a sign of aggression. Charles did not cow to his gaze - quite the opposite. David dropped his eyes and snarled.

“My son will find him.” Bran snapped. “And you will be calm. He is safe here. My pack will not harm him.”

“Can you guarantee that?” David snapped back. “Stranger in their territory. We killed for less.”

“David.” Blue Jay Woman said softly, standing. She met his eye, then dropped her gaze after a moment - David was the more dominant of the two, it seemed. “You know Bran. Let him take care of this.”

David snarled again; then he turned and stalked out of the room. Bran let him, nodding to Henry when David went to the office. He needed to be away from the madman - to calm himself. Charles followed him out, but went to the car and called Samuel. Eric sighed.

“No trouble here. She's so very helpful.” He crooned. “Sweet thing - you make her wrong. Don’t deserve her.” He looked at Bran, not meeting his eye. There was something not right in his expression. Something dark and shivering. Bran didn't look away, instead letting out that bit of power he kept hidden in himself. Eric cringed, looking away.


	17. Chapter 17

Meara groaned. She set her computer down and stood, stretching.

When Eric had named the things from Lovecraft, it had unleashed a number of possibilities. She knew a lot of his work was real. Lovecraft’s work; not Derleth or the authors who came after. The stuff born from Lovecraft’s dreams. She knew because she...well, Eric had also told her.

So she had spent a lot of time in Internet forums, when she was young and couldn't bring herself to really step out and be social. Mostly the seedy, conspiracy theory ones that centered around the realness of Lovecraft. Most of the people on those pages were crazy, but she found that crazy people often were very wise. If you could pull two or three coherent words from them.

She hadn't been on the Internet since Jethro Changed her, but Bran had given her a laptop last month. It was so she could find more books to read (and have a little more freedom) since she was half through his library. His timing couldn't have been better.

But she’d fallen into her old habits. Hunching over and spending hours at a time on the web, constantly seeking new information. She really hasn't slept last night, and it was already well past lunchtime. Bran and Charles had left the house a few hours ago. She needed to stretch. To relax. She wanted to take a walk - which was unusual, because she preferred staying indoors to going out, even as a werewolf.

She put on a pair of her boots and tied her hair in a ponytail. Sage would be remiss to see her now - oversized sweatpants and sweatshirt, her old men’s department clothes. She took her cellphone. She was trying hard to get back into the habit of keeping a phone on her, per Bran’s prodding.

Samuel was in the kitchen; Anna was going over things in the study. He frowned at her. “Going for a walk.” She said shortly. “I need some fresh air.”

“I can go with you.” He said, setting down his cup of coffee.

She couldn’t help but take some small offense. “I don’t need a babysitter, Samuel.” She said, a little colder than she’d intended. There was hurt in his eyes and he gave her a tender look. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He told her. “I just don’t think you should be alone right now.”

Meara took a breath. “I know.” She said, smiling softly. She reached and pat his arm. “I just need to breathe a little. I won’t go far.”

“I’m here,” he said, taking her hand, “if you need someone to talk to.”

She considered it for a moment. She liked Samuel. And if anything, he understood better than any of the rest of them - because he was the only one who truly knew what Blue Jay Woman was to Bran. But she didn’t want to put this on him. He had his own ghosts haunting him.

She squeezed his fingers. “I’m sturdy. I’ll be alright.” She said, reaching and patting his cheek. Then she took her coat and escaped out the front door.

The woods were quiet. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and strolled up the slope from the house, until she couldn’t see it anymore. It smelled like the trees, like the small animals that lived here. There were a myriad of scents she hadn’t learned yet, that were earth and green and nature - and it calmed her. Even though the faint trace of werewolf always existed in the area, she felt a little more free than she did when she was in the house.

It was because she couldn’t smell Bran anymore, something in her whispered. She ignored that something.

Her boots crunched the leaves, rhythmic and timed. It would be winter soon; already had the snow come, settling in a light blanket over the trees and in patches on the forest floor. The November air was crisp and cold, the way she liked it. It was perfect for cocoa, perfect for warm, soft blankets and fuzzy sweatshirts. She sighed, feeling a little more comfortable in her own skin. She hadn't noticed until it was gone, but it had felt like there was something on her, like oil or dirt. Now, she felt fine. Her mother always told her, her bad feelings would cling to her skin and suck the life from her if she let them.

Then, she heard something like a bell chime.

It made her pause. She stopped and turned, alert, as she listened. The soft sound rang again; definitely a bell. She pulled her hands from her pockets. Something smelled like magic - but different. Not wrong, just strange. She didn't realize she was following the sound and scent, until they got stronger.

The growl made her go very, very still.

She didn’t smell the wolf until she saw him, creeping around a thick patch of trees several yards away. He was upwind of her - that’s why she didn’t nose him. But he nosed her. It took her a moment to recognize the thin, scraggly thing he was. Adda looked more like a big german shepherd from afar.

He growled at her, lowering his head and showing her his teeth. She swallowed - but kept his gaze. She was an Omega, she reminded herself. She didn’t need to cow to him. And she was a werewolf. Maybe he had the advantage of claws and fangs, but he was thin and skittish - and she was far from frail.

He paced closer, circling her. She carefully turned, not letting him face her any other direction but head on. He snapped his teeth - and she heard the bell chime again, louder and more clearly than before. He paced until her back was to a tree.

“Adda, right?” She said, and he snarled. He was scared, she realized. His tail was tucked low, quivering. She could see it in his body, even if the breeze pushed his scent away from her. Defensive. She knelt, knee touching a patch of snow; the back of her heel touched the tree. He watched her with yellow eyes.

“I’m Meara. Do you remember seeing me earlier?” She asked, softly, still holding his gaze. He continued to growl, but his lips lowered a little. He crept closer. She could see the wrongness in him again. The fear and unrest. It wasn’t right, and she wanted to help him.

Meara pulled from the peace of the forest around them. She drew it into her center and extended it with her hand, softly, carefully. “It’s alright.” She cooed, attempting to let her power fill the air. “It’s alright.”

She felt her power wash out, warmer than usual - perhaps in contrast to the snow and cold. But Adda shook his head when it hit him. He snarled viciously at her and braced his legs, like he was going to bolt. Or charge.

Meara felt a moment of fleeting panic. Failure, her mind whispered. Failure.

But her wolf shook off the negative thoughts. She recalled that Anna said singing helped her focus. Meara hadn’t sung in years, but she tried anyways. Perhaps it was fate she knew an old, welsh lullaby - sung in her choir, a solo piece she’d worked on in her senior year at high school. It was the one she felt she should try; the one her wolf plucked from memory. The tune came easy to her. Pais Dinogad was a rather simple melody, but the welsh was difficult, and she’d forgotten most of it. So she settled for humming, smooth and long, so the notes carried on.

The effect was immediate. She felt the power change the flavor of each note. Even if she was just humming, everything felt _different_. Her power spiraled and focused; she recalled her instructure, years ago, teaching her how to focus her body and voice to master her vibrato. The sound carried through the forest and wrapped around Adda like a blanket.

He sighed, dragging himself over and dropping his head heavily in her lap. She kept humming, even when he tensed and began to Change. She wanted to move, but when she tried to take her leg out from under his head, he whined piteously. So she stayed as still as she could, and stopped humming. The Change required energy and fight. Not calm and slumber.

It took him a _long_ time. Injured, she’d taken twenty, twenty-five minutes. But the minutes just ticked by and by. The wait was agonizing, not just because of the waiting, but because of the horrible, pained sounds he made. By the time he was finished, she felt stiff from holding herself so still for so long.

Adda, even with the raw freshness to his skin and the heavy sheen of sweat, was rather handsome. He looked as much as she expected. Young, delicate and childlike. Maybe fifteen or sixteen. He was long; tall and lanky. His shoulders were wide and he was painfully thin. He had a short mop of brown hair that looked nearly like his fur had.

He wrapped an arm around her middle and pressed his face to her thigh, shivering. She resisted the urge to touch his face. “Adda?” She asked, voice soft. He didn't answer. She sighed, before leaning back against the tree.

Adda only shifted closer to her, moving and pressing his cheek against her belly. She decided she'd let him sit there for a while. Until he stopped shivering from everything else and started shivering from the cold. She hummed as many choral tunes as she remembered, listening to his unsteady breathing and her own voice.

The trembling subsided after a little while. Adda pushed against her, using her as leverage to attempt to sit up. She pushed forward quickly to help support him. “Better?” She asked, pulling stray leaves from his skin and hair.

He nodded, blinking groggily at her. His eyes were the same hazel as Bran’s. “Meara. You are Meara.” He said, words slow and thick. His welsh lilt was strong and heavy, like David’s, but his voice was soft and boyish. “Help, Eric said.”

“That's what I do. I guess.” She watched a sma shiver run through him. “Do you want to go somewhere warm? The house will be better.”

“Yes.” His teeth clacked, like he wasn't used to them. “Yes, please.”

She stood, and carefully pulled him to his own unstable feet. He swayed and tipped, so she shoved her shoulder under his arm and helped him prop against the tree.

She pulled off her coat and wrapped him in it, and after a moment, gave him her pants, too. Her sweatshirt fell to her thighs so she felt modest enough, and she could handle the cold better than him right now. He let her dress him, numb. She had to tie the drawstring of the pants tight. He was too thin.

Then she put him on her back and carried him. The trek to the house was slow; as thin as he was, he was still taller than her, and densely packed as a werewolf. He held onto her, arms wrapped around her neck as so not to choke her. He pressed his cheek against her soft hair.

He jumped when her phone rang, violently lurching when it buzzed in the coat pocket. She shushed him, stumbling to a stop and putting him down to fish it out. “It's a phone.” She explained, as he squeezed her arm. She didn't know how old Adda was when he died, much less _when_ he died. “It's used to talk to people from afar. Samuel’s calling me.”

As soon as she answered, Samuel was off. “Eric helped Adda escape. He's loose out here - where are you? Da wants you at the house.” He was moving fast. She could hear feet crunching on leaves, rapidly. Was he out in the woods tracking her down?

“I'm coming back now. But I already found Adda.” She said, smiling up at the shivering man. “He's alright. He can't walk right just yet so I’m carrying him. We'll be back to the house soon enough.”

Samuel paused. “He Changed?” He asked, cautiously.

“Yeah. It took him a long time, but he managed.” She sighed. “I gave him my pants to help him stop shivering, so don't be alarmed.”

Samuel sighed. “You gave him your pants?” He gave a breathy laugh. “Ok, I think I have your scent. I'll meet you along the way.” He hung up.

Meara tucked the phone away. “Are you not...Bran’s mate?” Adda asked, climbing onto her back again. She heaved him up and started walking. “I am Bran’s mate.”

“Why did he not... _call_ you?”

Meara sighed. The hurt rose to the surface again, the physical ache from Bran keeping her out. Adda made a noise half between a growl and a whine. She shushed him. “He's busy. He trusts Samuel - his son. I trust Samuel, too. It's not a big deal.”

“He's hurting you.” Adda whispered. She felt his breath against her ear, before he tucked his face into her neck and took a few long breaths. “He can't help it.” She told him. “He loves Blue Jay Woman. But she was dead and he needed a mate.”

“He told us.” Adda said softly, his lips tickling her skin. He squeezed her shoulders and sighed into the crook of her neck. “He told us that you are special. Omega. That's why Eric says you help.”

“I do help.” She agreed, unbothered by his closeness. It took her a moment to realize that her wolf decided Adda was one of theirs; one of their pack, even without being pack. “I'm glad he sent you to me. Eric’s really smart, even if he acts crazy.” She grinned, hiking him up higher on her back.

“Eric frightens me.” Adda whispered. “I don't like the way he looks at you.”

Meara tried not to think on that.

Samuel came into view, smiling though shocked. Adda lifted his head when he scented him, glaring as he lifted his arms a little higher. He was shielding her neck; protecting her throat. He growled lightly. “Oh, stop that. Samuel's family.” She scolded. “You don't need to worry about him. He's safe.”

Adda went silent.

“Da’s bringing the lot of them to the house, so Charles can go over the stuff on his computer. He’s bringing all of them.” Samuel explained. Warning. Bran was bringing Blue Jay Woman, too. Meara couldn't hide the way her face twisted. She didn't want to see her; didn't want her in the house she was living in.

“I can carry him.” Samuel said, as she set Adda down. “It'll be faster.”

“Let him carry you. You’re too tall for me to hold you right.” Meara told Adda, when he hesitated. He gave her a cautionary look. She smiled. “I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you.”

Meara helped Adda onto Samuel’s back and they trekked the rest of the path at a much quicker pace.

Once they were inside, Meara immediately fetched Adda food. Samuel sat him at the kitchen bar, carefully, before picking up his phone and calling Bran. He walked to the study.

Meara wasn’t the best cook, but Bran had leftover burgers in the fridge. She nuked them in the microwave and didn't bother with the buns, just stacked four on a plate and slid them to Adda. He eyed them carefully, sniffing the meat. “It's fine. Just beef.” She told him, pinching off a bite and eating it for show. “See? I'm not going to poison you.”

He ate awkwardly. At one moment he'd be shoving the meat into his mouth as fast as he could swallow it. In the next, he'd be very still, frowning at the burger in his hands. Meara sat patiently, watching him eat with a sad smile. She herself hadn't eaten since yesterday. But she just wasn't hungry.

Anna appeared. Adda looked at her with wide, frightful eyes. “Anna’s family. She helps like I do.” Meara said, when one of his hands wrapped around her arm. “She's nice.”

“Hello.” Anna said, gentle and cheerful. Her power came across much more direct and smooth. Adda automatically relaxed. It made Meara’s stomach churn in disappointment.

_Failure. She's a much a better Omega._

Meara ignored the voice in her head and stood. “Will it be alright if Anna sits with you for a little while?” She asked.

Adda looked at her with wide eyes. “You're leaving?” He sounded horrified. He held onto her hand as if to keep her from going away.

“I'm just going upstairs to change my clothes. I'll come right back.” She said, touching his hand. He squeezed, not uncomfortably. “You promise?” He said, and his voice cracked slightly with tears.

Her heart ached. “I promise.” She swore. This frightened little wolf was hers, now. She'd take care of him.

He released her, and Anna quickly filled the space next to him. Meara heard Bran’s car pull up out front as she went upstairs. Bitterly, she pulled on her jeans and swapped the leaf and dirt trodden sweatshirt for a different one.

They were already inside when she came downstairs. David was standing over Adda, holding his face with a look of grief and bewilderment. Adda was smiling; his smile was crooked. It was cute. He turned when she came downstairs.

David looked at her with bright eyes. “Help, help.” She heard Eric chatter, from the dining room. Blue Jay Woman was helping him sit in the chair. “I said she helps.” He looked at Leah, who sat across from him, and nodded to her. She rolled her eyes.

Meara couldn’t see Bran. She was glad for that. Anna stood and went to Charles as he set up his laptop on the table. Adda looked away from his father and at the empty spot, then to Meara expectantly.

“You helped him change.” David said softly, as she came and took one of Adda’s hands. She smiled. “He was just scared.” She said. David stared at her, strangely. It was a little odd, this man who looked so much like Bran looking at her with such expression. Bran was usually very nondescript; he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve. She only saw him this expressive when he was angry, or when he was making love to her.

The thought made her not want to look at David anymore.

David reached and touched her hair, frowning at her. “You are...something about you…” Meara blinked. His hand was soft, as his fingers caressed her cheek.

Bran cleared his throat.

David retracted his hand with a faint smile. “Apologies.” He told his son. “Nothing meant by it.”

Meara glanced at Bran. He was watching David, hands in his pockets, eyes sharp. Territorial. The wolf in her loved that; but Meara did not. She turned pointedly away from him and to Adda. “You want more to eat?” She asked.

“No, thank you.” He spoke very softly, eyes down. Bran didn’t frighten him, but he was still submissive. Submissive and nervous; the tension, even if it was nearly gone away, was making him uncomfortable. She squeezed his hand. “How about you come upstairs with me and relax?” She suggested. “Unless you want to stay and talk about the stuff with them?”

Adda looked pained. “I don't want to hear about her anymore.” He whispered, pathetically. “Come on, then.” She said. Meara looped her arm with his when he stood, deceptively casual as she pulled him against her side. She had an iron grip on him, helping him stand upright. He walked much easier, now that he'd had food, but he stilled wobbled.

The stairs were slow, and his shoulders were too wide for her to walk up beside him. But he did alright with her hand on his back, keeping him standing upright as he clung to the rails.

“Agent Fisher has narrowed down some points on interest. No one else has gone missing since your escape from Houston, but we expect them to hit hard soon. Now that they lack the lot of you to feed power from.” Charles began.

Meara swallowed thickly, but helped Adda to her room and shut the door. Bran didn't want her to be in that conversation. And honestly, she didn't want to hear it.

Adda curled up in her pillows and she sat back beside him, setting her laptop in front of them. She'd left off in one of her old forums - the only one she figured out the password for, at the moment. An old friend had inboxed her, seeing her active for the first time in five years.

 _You remember Doc Jorgensen?_ The message read. _He went missing. Think he’s got something to do with all this witch stuff you’ve been asking about in the forums?_

She sighed and opened a new tab. She smiled at Adda. “Let's watch a movie. I'm thinking you might like Disney.”

* * *

The rest of the day was spent discussing tactics. Samuel wanted to go to hunt down them down immediately. “They'll want to regroup immediately. Our best bet would be to wait until they settle again, and wait for them to anchor their power once more. It gives them a weakness and us a tool.” Charles explained.

“That could take days.” Samuel frowned. “Who knows what could happen between now and then.”

“Much.” David agreed. “But I do not think it will. They do not need more sacrifices at the moment. Perhaps more wolves, and maybe more witches - but they will have too hard a time if the packs stay together. They picked off your other three because they were alone.”

Bran considered. “I do not like sitting idle while the witch and her cohorts are free.” He said shortly.

“I agree with David.” Charles said, surprisingly. Charles didn't usually like to sit and wait like that, either. Especially when the target was logically in a better position to eliminate. “I don’t like sitting and waiting, but this gives us an opportunity. I have some theories as to where they might choose to settle again, and I think keeping Adam Hauptman and the Gray Lords in the loop would be our best bet now.”

Bran didn’t like that. “You think they intend to settle in the Tri-Cities?” He asked, frowning.

Charles nodded. “Neutral territory - and full to the brim of all sort of power. Witches, vampires, werewolves, and the largest of the fae reservations. The Grey Lords are known to be highly active there, and there are a number other things that go on that draw the rest of the supernatural world.” He explained. “I have a very good feeling that’s where they are headed.”

“So we wait for them to settle in Adam’s territory, and make it harder for us to move? The treaty with the Gray Lords ties our hands over there.” Anna pointed out.

“They’ll cooperate. They’ve taken interest in this.” Bran said, dully. “I’ll call Adam and we will talk to them together.”

That settled their plans for the day. Charles and Anna went home. Samuel took the wolves back to the motel - except for Adda and Blue Jay Woman.

“If he feels safe and comfortable with Meara, then I would rather he stay with her for now.” David said to Bran. “Unless you have qualms with him staying with your mate.”

“He is fine.” Said Bran. What he didn’t say was that he was glad Meara had something to distract her. David nodded at that, and loaded into the car beside Samuel.

Blue Jay Woman waited patiently in his study, where he’d taken her. He closed the door. “I think now,” he said, looking at her, “we should talk.”


	18. Chapter 18

For a silent while, Blue Jay Woman examined the room. She touched every book on the shelves and ran her fingers over his desk and chair. Bran settled on the floor beside the fireplace, watching her. Perhaps, he wondered, if things had been different, this would have all been hers. Everything would have been different - even him. Especially him.

But that wasn't the way things were.

"The home you built is lovely." She said, touching the mantle. "It suits you. I was rather surprised you didn't move somewhere else."

"Charles needed to know his family. It seemed right to stay." He said, watching as she sat across from him on the persian rug. She smiled. "Yes. We spoke of my father. I am glad he was able to know him. To learn from him." She said with a sigh. He could tell it hurt her, knowing she missed her son's life. But she was pleased to know he was still cared for.

"Tell me of the time I have missed, Bran." She said softly, reaching and taking his hand. "Tell me of these two hundred years I have lost."

It was so easy, talking to her. Telling her everything. Two hundred years seemed small in the span of things, but so much had changed in that amount of time. The world, the werewolves, him. He told her all of it, even the things he didn't want to say. Of his shame and pride, of what wrongs he had to right.

She was displeased, knowing he made her son his killer. She showed it in her face and told him such. But she understood. She knew, as she always did.

They spoke late into the night. "So much has changed." She said, sighing. "I still can't quite decide how good those changes are."

"Some have been alright. Others, not so much." Bran said. They sat much closer than they were a few hours ago, legs touching and hands clasped. He'd lit the fireplace; the warmth washed over them, casting them and the room in a dim light.

She squeezed his hands. "You've changed." She noted, softly. She looked at him through her lashes, smiling. "More than I think you realize."

"I had to change." He sounded tired; worn. "The world I've built, the people I've taken under my care - I had to be different to take care of them all. Keep them safe."

"Not that." She said. "You were always like that. Even when you had just Samuel and I - your drive to protect your pack has not changed, even if the methods have. It is your heart that has changed."

Blue Jay Woman reached and ran her hand across his chest. Her touch made his skin tingle through his shirt.

His hand touched hers. "When we first met, we could not understand each other at all. But I knew you were the man I was meant to love, and that you were the man meant to love me." She said. "My time with you was the most important time of my life. I know you, and I know you well. You have grown, Bran Cornick."

He drew her closer to him. She climbed into his lap and settled against his chest with a sigh. His arms wound tightly around her, cradling her close. Neither spoke for a short while, before Blue Jay Woman closed her eyes and settled her head in crook of his neck. "You love her." She said softly. "Your mate - Meara."

Bran stroked her short hair. "Yes." He spoke just as soft. "It didn't start that way. The magic - it bound us together on its own. Perhaps...I already cared for her, by then. I asked her to be my mate, and she agreed." He closed his eyes and smiled. "Well, she agreed to try. It took her three months to give herself to me."

Blue Jay Woman stroked his jaw. Bran opened his eyes and looked down at her. "I still love you." He told her, voice pressed with grief. "I will never be able to stop loving you. But I…"

"You have allowed yourself to move forward." Blue Jay Woman supplied, smiling sadly. "To be happy again. What more could I ask for?"

Her thumb rubbed across his cheek. His smile was as sad as hers, only hers was wet with tears.

"I love her." He said, remorseful. "And I want for nothing but her, now. No matter how much I love you. Loved you."

Blue Jay Woman stroked his cheek and kissed him. Bran grabbed her waist, kissing her back - passionate, intense. He kissed her like he did when they first made love, those first few days of knowing each other. Except this kiss, he knew, would be the last she gave him.

"It is not betrayal to let the heart move on." She whispered to him, nose pressed to his. She spoke to the ache he did not say. The guilt he would never admit out loud. "You and I - what we were is gone. In the past. We will never be again. You know that - have known that all along." Her hands dragged through his hair and cradled his jaw.

"Yes." He had his eyes closed, breathing in her scent.

"You will always be a light in my life, my love," she cooed to him, "but do not cling to me because you miss what was. Please, grow and live on. Do not cling to the dead, for that is what I am. What I must be."

Hearing those words made his chest hurt. "I will always love you, and will be there when you need me." He told her, running his hand across her cheek and through her short hair. It made him sad, seeing her long, lovely braids cut away. "But I need her. I love her."

"Good." Blue Jay Woman kissed his cheek and stood. "We do not know what will come of this conflict with the witches. But I take heart knowing you've found some form of happiness in all this."

Bran stood. "But what about your happiness?" He murmured. She held his hand. "I have seen my son, and I have seen you - both alive and blooming. That is my happiness." She smiled sadly at him.

Bran took her back to the motel. She slipped into her room without so much as a wave. The drive back to the house felt...calming. A tension, weight, in his shoulders was lifted. He loved Blue Jay Woman, yes. But he had moved on. Moved on to Meara - who he had to make things right with, now.

He cracked open Meara's door when he came back to the house. Meara was laying with her back to the door. Adda was curled up in a tiny ball in front of her, head tucked against her belly. It bothered Bran, having another man in her bed. It bothered the wolf for certain; but he reminded himself that Adda was damaged and hurt, and Meara was the thing to help him heal.

He closed the door. He would talk to her, tomorrow. Apologize for the way he's broken her heart, and tell her the truth he'd been hiding from himself.

* * *

When morning came, Samuel and Bran were already in the kitchen when Adda came downstairs. It took him a minute to come down without falling, but he managed slowly without their help. He rubbed his eyes as he came into the kitchen and looked around, smelling of fear and confusion. "Where did she go?" He asked Bran. "Meara - she is not upstairs."

Bran frowned. Meara hadn't come down yet. It was still rather early - she liked sleeping in, so he'd assumed she'd be down in an hour or so with Adda.

"Her car is still outside." Samuel said, softly. "Keys, shoes, coat."

Bran set aside breakfast and marched upstairs. Samuel followed closely behind with Adda beside him.

Nothing was amiss in her room, other than Adda's scent mixed in with hers. Meara kept her things neat, and they seemed that way. Her bed was the only thing in disarray, thanks to Adda. The quilt was folded on the foot of the bed. Her laptop was on the small desk by her window, plugged in and idling. Her phone was on the nightstand. She had a habit of leaving it behind, he knew, but something seemed off.

Bran picked it up, and found a small, neatly folded square of paper. He opened it to reveal Meara's fine handwriting; her unique blend of tight cursive and print jumped out at him before the words did.

_I said I couldn't do something that made me unhappy. I said I would leave before I ended up like Leah. I'm sorry. Please don't come after me._

_Always yours,_

_Meara_

Bran saw the note tremble before he realized it was his hand. Samuel stepped into the room, and froze immediately after. "Da?" He asked softly.

Bran cursed himself. He was such a fool; a damn fool. He should have known better. What did he think? That she would just sit and wait for him? Wait for him to stop pining over another woman, and return to his mate? He shouldn't have shut her out; shouldn't have hurt her. He should have told her he loved her sooner.

He went to her dresser and wrenched it open. Most of her clothes were still there, but the practical things he knew she had, jeans, tee shirts, nondescript items, were gone. So was the backpack she kept stored underneath her bed.

Her mother's pearls looked lonely on the dresser top.

"She's gone." He said, voice tight. "She left."

Adda whined, leaning on the doorframe. "What?" Samuel said in disbelief. "Why? She's your mate. Why would she just up and leave?"

Bran's smoothed his features and handed Samuel the note. It made his fingers burn. "Because she wouldn't stay somewhere that hurt her." He said to his son, before walking briskly past him and quickly down the stairs. He shut himself in the study and sat hard at the desk.

The beast raged; it thrashed against the cage that was not yet broken. Bran tried to open the mating bond that he'd so stupidly closed off. But it was like someone had glued the door shut. He couldn't open it again, couldn't seek her out. The bond was still there, but for some reason, it was all but useless.

He took a deep breath, and broke the arm of his chair.

* * *

The day went by rocky and tense. Word spread quickly around Aspen Creek of Meara's departure. Tensions ran high; the pack was displeased because they knew Bran had hurt her, made her feel rejected and alone. They were upset with him. Angry with him. Their loyalty remained firm at the very least, but things were rather difficult.

Several pack members set out in an attempt to track her scent. Wolves trailed all around the town, running and following every trace of her. It was Asil who picked it up, following it to the highway. It ended abruptly on the way to Missoula.

"She must have hitched a ride." Charles said. "I know her note said not to follow her, but I can track her down and catch her before she gets out of the state." He offered.

Bran would have had Charles do just that - but then Alistair Beauclaire called and it was quickly discovered that the witches were indeed settled in the tri-cities, though where exactly, they did not yet know. "I will work around the semantics of the treaty to ensure you can come here unhindered." Beauclaire told him. "I despise witches and their black magics, especially when they threaten mine. I would very much like to see this handled."

"Yes." Bran said. They made quick arrangements for Bran and his to be allowed to act in the area, roping Adam into the conversation. Adam's status as a neutral guardian meant guesting laws and semantics. But the three of them quickly smoothed those over.

He didn't want to deal with the witches, though. Bran itched to hunt Meara down. She was his mate. His. He couldn't just sit idle and let her leave like that. He wouldn't. The wolf in him was soothed at the agreement between man and beast. They would find her.

But his mother was a threat. And now that Meara was outside his protection, the urgency to destroy the witch was greater. She was vulnerable now, away from him. And if the witch caught wind of her as his mate, she would snatch the Omega into her claws and bleed her dry for power.

They flew to Tri-Cities that evening, instead of driving. Quicker. Bran and Charles piloted the plane, with Samuel, Doctor Jorgensen, and the undead wolf pack in the passenger seating. Even Adda came, though he hadn't spoken since Meara disappeared. Anna stayed in Aspen Creek. She would run the show while Bran was away, with Asil's help. And, she told Bran, she would start tracking Meara down.

"I've picked up a few things, these years mated to Charles." She told him, smug. "We will find her. And when we do, you will apologize to her for rejecting her."

Yes he would, Bran didn't say to Anna. He'd right this wrong.

The clever goblins who helped Bran find Mercy in Italy offered their airfield. Adam and Mercy met them.

"Bran Cornick, Marrok, we welcome you to our territory, and offer you our hospitality and friendship." Adam said. Bran could feel the pack magic in his greeting, the old magic that hadn't been truly used in earnest here in North America since it had been his territory from the start. "So long as you are here, we welcome you to all that is ours in resources, and welcome you to join in our hunts."

Bran nodded. "Adam Hauptman, alpha of the Columbia Basin territory. I see your welcome and thank you for it. We accept what you have to offer, and in turn offer our own aide in any need you may have of me and mine." The words were broad and different from the usual response, Bran knew. But he wanted to drive the point through; he would always be there for them. They would always be his, even if he was forced to push them away.

Adam smiled as the magic settled. "I see you are the one bringing trouble this time." He said, the formality gone and the familiarity warm. "How odd, being on the other side."

"Indeed. Usually it's Mercy bringing me some injured alpha and dead wolves." The admission was a little uncouth on his part. Mercy caught it, frowning slightly. But Bran hugged her and kissed her forehead, and she let it slide.

He made quick introductions of the company of wolves. They knew Samuel and Charles; they didn't say anything about Blue Jay Woman, though he knew they had been told the story.

They'd brought two SUV's in addition to the car they drove here. There was a werewolf leaning against that one, lean and ruggedly handsome - Adam's third, Warren. He tipped an imaginary hat to them. "They're both yours while you're here. If you want to get rentals instead we won't be offended." Adam gave Bran and Samuel the keys. "The FBI has already set up in the area and they're sweeping to see what they can find. The fae are searching, too, but the FBI doesn't know about their help yet."

"That will be the Grey Lord's discretion." Bran said dully. "The meeting will be first thing in the morning."

Adam nodded. "You're welcome to my home, but I assumed you'd want to stay at the condominium you own." He smiled.

Bran smiled back.

The drive to the newer part of the city was quiet in both cars. Now that Anna was not around to help keep his head cool, Bran was tense. Every little sound irritated him and every time he heard someone so much as breathe, he felt a violent itch rise.

The Marrok company owned one of the nice, newer condominiums in the Tri-cities. It was some thirty or so minutes from Adam's home, up in Richland. The building was currently only occupied on the first two floors. The wolves took the upper floors, Bran shutting himself off in one of the smaller, single resident condos.

Sleep did not come easy. When it did, he was plagued with dreams. This time, he dreamt of the witch. Of his time enslaved by her and of her torment of their pack. He woke when he remembered snapping Adda's neck. Putting his youngest brother out of his misery. It was barely past two in the morning.

Bran did not sleep the rest of the night. The beast itched and stirred. The wolf wanted their mate. Wanted to know where she was and protect her; to have her back.

But the beast settled when he beat it back. Reminded it; when the witch is dead, she will be much safer. Even if he doesn't know where she went.


	19. Chapter 19

_ A Different Path _

* * *

 

Meara heard Samuel take the wolves back to the motel. She heard Anna and Charles leave, and she heard Bran take Blue Jay Woman to his study.

Her chest was tight. Her head hurt. Adda was asleep beside her; peacefully, her hand held tightly in his. He looked so sweet, so calm. He looked like Bran. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend he didn’t. She sat there for hours, awake in the dark, hearing the voices in her head whisper the ugly truths to her.

_ He told you _ , whispered something dark in her,  _ that he would never love you _ .

She knew that. She understood. She wasn't stupid.

_ But you are. Stupid girl - thought he might love you. He might have, but not with her here.  _ The voice laughed.  _ You are nothing to her _ .  _ He will cast you aside for her. _

It was jarring, thinking like that. She rubbed her eye with her free hand. Even if he didn't do that, he would always pine for Blue Jay Woman. They had no idea if the resurrection was permanent, or if killing the witches would kill the wolves too. 

_ You wish it would _ .

Guilt soured Meara’s mouth. She was terrible;  petty and cruel. She wanted Blue Jay Woman dead so she could have Bran. But she didn't want Adda dead. Or David or even Leah. Just Blue Jay Woman.

_ Terrible girl. Why would he love someone so selfish? _

Meara slipped out of the bed. She felt...felt dirty. Guilty and wrong. She couldn't bring herself to hold Adda’s hand anymore, for fear of him knowing how terrible she was. For dirtying him.

Wishing death on someone else was horrible. Who was she to think she'd be better for Bran than  _ Blue Jay Woman? _ The woman who was his everything?

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. She heard Bran and Blue Jay Woman leave the house. She saw them through the window. She saw him hold her hand in his and escort her to the car.

Meara wanted to curl up and forget about the world. She wanted to run away and never come back. Never see Aspen Creek again.

For the first time in five years, she felt the childish, heartbreaking need for her mother rise.

She slipped back into bed and dried her tears on her pillow. Adda shifted a little, frowning. He squirmed a little closer and moved so his head was tucked against her belly. Poor Adda, she thought. He was so frail looking. So heartbreaking and sad. She helped him just by being near, but she didn't feel like she deserved to make him feel better. Didn't deserve to help him heal.

Her door cracked open. Bran’s scent spilled in as he checked on them. Meara caught traces of Blue Jay Woman’s odd scent, and it made her stomach churn. How close had he been with her? How close was her skin to his?

She pretended to be asleep. She didn't want look at him or talk to him.

_ He doesn't love you _ , the voice said again, when the door closed.  _ Never will. You're just making him hurt more, by being here. _

Meara sat up again. Her feet felt strange on the floor.

_ You said you would leave. So leave. _

She silently grabbed the backpack from under her bed and stuffed it with clothes. She changed into her jeans and tied her hair back, shouldering the bag. Then she frowned at Adda. She couldn't just  _ leave _ , she thought. The wolf in her tried to shake itself of the guilt. She was  _ needed _ here. No matter what her heart felt with Bran and Blue Jay Woman, she was still important to the members of her pack.

_ You poison them with your heartache. _ The voice said, convincing her.  _ Your selfishness causes them distress. They would be better if you left _ .

Yes, she agreed. They would be. She wrote Bran a note and folded it neatly, hiding it under her phone. So he would be the first to find it.

She slipped downstairs and silently padded down to the backdoor on the bottom floor. She didn't bother grabbing shoes as she trekked out into the woods and walked away.

* * *

Meara walked until she found the main highway, avoiding the turn to Aspen Creek. She walked along the highway to Missoula - bigger city, more transit. She didn't know where to go, much less how to get there. Bran had given her a credit card of her own, but if she used that, he’d know where she was. She had a small amount of cash, but nothing substantial. 

_ Undetected. Where he won't follow. _ The voices were certain.

The whole continent was his damn territory. She'd never left the US, much less North America. But if she wanted to be away from him. From the hurt she caused.

_ There is one place _ , the voice said sweetly.  _ One territory no longer his. _

Adam Hauptman. Tri-cities wasn't too far; several hours, but not many. It wasn't as far as she wanted, but it was somewhere not his. She'd be safe there, something told her. She shook her head.

A truck approached from behind. Meara turned; she'd never hitchhiked before, and the thought was frightening. But she was a werewolf now, and she  _ needed  _ to get to Tri-Cities.

The truck pulled up alongside her. The driver rolled down his window and she climbed up the side so he could see her. He was an older man, with gray in his beard and hair and soft eyes. He frowned. “You alright, sweetheart?” He asked. “Ain't safe to be out this time of night.”

“Do you think you can give me a ride to Missoula?” She asked softly. “I have a little cash I can give you. I just need to get to the city.”

He frowned at her. “Keep your money. Hop in.”

The truck cab was warm and spacious. She had a good arms length between her and the driver, which helped her feel a little better. He left the doors unlocked and started driving again.

“No shoes,” he noted, “were you out camping?”

“My boyfriend and I came to stay in one of the cabins up the mountainside. But I needed to get away.” She said. She felt bad, lying. Guilty. But it was necessary. “He didn't...I just need to get away from him.”

He looked at her, and she could see something like horror in his face. “Want me to take you to the police?” He asked softly. “They can help you. Get you away from him.”

She shook her head. “I have family in Washington state. If I can get to them he'll leave me alone.” She smiled.

He didn't say anything else for a moment. “There's water and pop in the cooler by your feet, and some sandwiches. Help yourself.” he said, a little forcefully. He was fretting over her in some small way. Omega. 

_ Abusing your power to get what you need. Is there no low? _

She wasn't hungry, but she grabbed a can of soda and the smallest sandwich she could find. It was peanut butter and jelly, with strawberry jam instead of grape. She hated strawberry, but she ate it all in silence.

When they reached Missoula, he took her to a truck stop with a diner.

“Let me buy you breakfast before you run off.” He insisted. “How do you plan on even getting to Washington from here? That's a five to six hour drive and you don't even have shoes.”

She didn't have the heart to argue. The diner was small and homely, like those little country style ones in Georgia she used to go to with her mother. There were about a dozen truck drivers, one waitress, and one cook. They all looked at her when she came in; a young and frightened little girl with no shoes.

The driver got her a heap of pancakes and eggs, and after a small exchange with the waitress at the till, he appeared with boots and socks, and a large winter coat.

“Will a nine fit? You look about the same size as Debbie.” He asked. Debbie the waitress waved tentatively from the bar seats. She was probably middle aged, with a few kids. Compassionate, Meara saw.

Meara took the boots and set the coat beside her. They were a little big, but she she smiled. “Thank you.” She said softly. These humans - they were so nice. Someone was always taking care of her.

_ Pathetic. _

As she ate, the driver helped her figure out how she was going to get to Tri-Cities. Adam Hauptman lived near Finley, in the more spacious part by the river. So that's where Meara’s “family” lived. If she could get close enough, she could walk.

The greyhounds could take her directly to Pasco. The driver insisted she call her family now, but she told him another lie. That if she called in advanced and the boyfriend called, they might tell him. Better her to keep them in the dark until she show up.

He didn't really believe her. She knew he didn't. “Whatever he did to you,” the man told her, “he'll burn in hell for.”

She swallowed.

Word apparently traveled around the diner. Drivers wandered by and dropped wads of cash into her lap. She tried to give to back to them, but they either made her keep it or left before she could. She ended up with a couple hundred bucks in her hands, two water bottles and a plastic bag of all sorts of food, courtesy of the chef.

The kindness of people. Meara couldn't help the tears that slid down her cheeks.

_ Taking advantage of them. _

Debbie the waitress gave her a ride to the bus station. “If you go to this bar,” Debbie said, giving her a map and pointing, “and tell them Deb and Jeb Lewis sent you. They'll set you up, take care of you.”

“Thank you.” Meara couldn't bring herself to say anything more. Debbie pat her cheek gently. “Be safe, sweetie. The local werewolf pack there might even help you out.”

Debbie left. She didn't know how right she was.

Meara tried to sleep on the bus, but she was too scared. She just hugged her backpack on the very back seat and huddled into herself.

She felt so wrong. A bad person. Bran deserved better. He deserved Blue Jay Woman, who was better in every way.

_ That's why you come to Tri-Cities. Leave him be. _ The voice cooed.  _ He's not yours to love. _

Her wolf stirred, suddenly. That wasn't true, she snarled to the human in her. He was  _ her _ mate. Why the  _ hell _ was she running away? What was wrong with her? Coward, the wolf snapped at her. Turn back and stand by your mate. Why was she running? Meara frowned to herself. She’d never been the type to run away. It didn’t make sense.

_ Never turn back _ , the voice snapped, and Meara’s head spun for a moment. She gripped her backpack and leaned her head awkwardly against the window. Something was wrong, something was wrong wrong wrong…

Her stomach turned, and the feeling passed. Meara closed her eyes and sniffled when the wolf settled. Nothing was wrong but her.

* * *

It was mid afternoon when Meara arrived in Pasco. She secured her backpack and tightened her gifted boots before leaving the greyhound station and went out into the city. 

Pasco wasn’t a big city. It reminded her much of the town in Florida she grew up in, but bigger and a bit more tightly packed. No one really gave her a second glance here. That, she was glad for. Something hung in the air. Something heavy and discomforting. Meara felt like she was walking into a city that was rotting away, and it made her uncomfortable.

She knew the main vicinity of Adam’s home. She’d circled the area on the map they gave her. She figured it would be a few hours of walking.

She walked for a while, crossing over the Columbia River on an old suspension bridge that had very new parts. This had been the bridge that Adam and his pack fought a troll on, she remembered. That was when Bran had to release him; because of the fae.

Bran had told her plenty about Adam and Mercy, but she still knew very little about the man or the woman. She knew they were nice; protective. They had declared their territory a sanctuary against the fae of all things. That alone told her they had drive and were bold, that they would go to no end to protect theirs. He would have his pack all with him, no doubt. Bran had called him and warned him about the witches. 

The thought of the witches made her feet slow.

If she went to him, there was no guarantee he would not call Bran and offer her right back to him. He wasn’t Bran’s, anymore. But she couldn’t lie to him like she did the humans. Couldn’t tell him she left because her heart was broken. 

_ He would never accept that. He would send you back where you are not wanted.  _ The voices told her.

This time, the wolf stomped forward. 

_ No he would not _ . She snapped, shaking the depressing and sinking feelings hard.  _ Go to him. Safe. _

Meara stumbled a little, falling against a sign post. There were people nearby who paused and looked at her, but she ignored her. Her chest felt tight. Something was  _ wrong _ with her. She gripped the sign and hunched over, breathing heavily. 

Wrong, wrong. The wolf saw it, knew it so. She shook herself, hard, and Meara wobbled again. What was that? What was going on? What was so  _ wrong  _ her?

_ Something wicked, _ her wolf snarled.  _ Black magic. _

Meara gripped the sign post. Black magic? Witchcraft? 

_ They dare try to control us. But we are Omega. They cannot control us. _ The wolf said. Meara’s grip made the sign post bend a little, pressing the wrought steel closer together with her fingers. She let the wolf come to the fore. The wolf took hold of their power and unleashed it. Meara felt it, felt the slimy and dark thing in her get pushed out. It was like someone flipped the lightswitch on - and Meara could only pray it was permanent. 

First thing she realized was,  _ holy shit what did I do _ . She literally ran away from home. And now she was in  _ Washington _ . 

She straightened. What was she supposed to do now? Call Bran and have him waste his time to come get her?

Meara wiped the sweat from her brow and trekked in the opposite direction of Hauptman’s house, to the park. The witches had been in her head. How? Why her? Why did they want her to come here?

Bran’s mother had shared his gift of telepathy, she remembered. But that didn't explain how she got into Meara’s head. Or how she'd gotten her magic into her, to make her so agreeable for what they wanted. Meara didn't know much about witches. What she did know came from what little experience she had with them, through Rebecca and the witches she met eleven years ago.

Columbia Park was a nice looking place. She ventured deep into the woods there, as the sun set and the sky became dark. It was dangerous, to be alone in territory so full of fae and vampires. But she was afraid of going to Hauptman. Not because of Bran, but because she was afraid of taking the witches to his doorstep.

She climbed a tree and settled for the night. The coat she'd been given was big on her, but warm. Not that she needed much help feeling warm as a werewolf. She snacked on the jerky and food the diner had given her, frowning at the sky.

Witches scared her. Rebecca didn't because she was pack, even if other things about her frightened Meara. But black witches scared Meara.

When she was fourteen, something had happened to her. She didn't quite remember what it was, but she remembered some of it. She remembered the witches, remembered them casting some sort of spell on her and a few other people who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. She remembered that something happened; something that killed the witches and everyone else. Something that left a scar on her back. 

The other scars were gone with the Change, save for the one on her back. She remembered where most of them had been, but she'd let herself move on with time. She never let herself cling to her trauma like a frightened rabbit. She moved forward; something awful happened to her, but she refused to let it weigh her down.

The scar on her back wasn't a typical scar. It had looked like a bruise for the longest time, black and shapeless. Like an ink blot. She tattooed over it when she was seventeen. Cthulhu had been an odd choice. But she had been very odd back then.

Meara sighed and settled against the tree trunk. She would try to sleep, and in the morning, she'd figure something out.

As she slept, she didn't hear or smell the woman who stepped into the woods and walked to her tree.

* * *

Meara didn’t wake up when the magic hit her. Instead, she was drawn into herself. She found herself sitting on a beach, with the water to her back and the shore ahead. The sand met the edge of a lush, mountain forest, with aspen trees and pine and fer. It looked like Aspen Creek, like the woods outside Bran’s house.

Her wolf sat at the edge of the woods, facing her. It was strange, seeing her wolf form like that. It watched her with silver eyes. 

There was something in the woods. Something coming towards them. The water lapped at Meara’s ankles. 

The wolf growled. Meara felt the sand shift when the wolf pounced for her. She was slammed back and sloshed into the water. “What are you doing?!” She gasped, momentarily splashing under the water.

“She will take you.” The wolf spoke to her. Their voices weren’t quite the same, but she and the wolf were still one. Still the same. “She will take you because you are weak. But that is not your fault.” The wolf pressed a paw to her stomach, pushing her deeper into the water. Meara whined and fought back. 

“We have to be smart.”

Meara blinked, the salt water unusually warm. The wolf stood over her, long legs caging her. She was face to face with the hole in the wolf’s chest. It was black and empty, about the size of her fist. And that same hole was in Meara’s own chest. 

“They witch will not have us.” The trees swayed. Something black was seeping towards them. “She will never control us, even if she sways you. Omega, they call us.”

Meara blinked up at the wolf again. She was beginning to understand. This time when the wolf pushed, she followed lead, slinking back into the water. The wolf touched her cheek with her own nose, affectionately. 

Meara sank into the water before the magic could take the human of her. The wolf stood alone in the black, but the magic would not hold her. And the witch would not be able to tell. The wolf watched the water with a grin.

* * *

Meara didn’t remember much. The witch took her to their hideout. Bran’s mother, she knew, liked to pet her a lot. Touched her face, stroked her hair. She spoke welsh to her often, but Meara didn’t understand welsh. 

The witch had her change into different clothes and took her to meet the other witches. They all smelled of fear and rot. Black magic. They had wolves at their sides, all with blood on their fur and looking strange. The wolves watched Meara, recognizing her without knowing her. They were of her pack. 

Meara sensed something, in the hole of a building the witches used. It was slick and terrible, and the smell of sulfur and sea was strangely familiar. Meara did not want to be there; whatever it was, the witches drank its power like wine. She noted that fighting them there would be a terrible mistake.

The witches asked her questions. They thought she was something special. The Marrok’s mate; they thought she could give them secrets. So she fed them lies. 

“Pretty pet,” Bran’s mother purred, stroking her cheeks, “you will go with them. My son is here, too. Bran, son of Bran. You will go and bring him to me. Bring me what is mine.” 

Meara would go; did go. She would go to Bran - but not for the witch. The stupid witches sent all of their pets, their wolves and the half fae they’d taken. Meara went with them, but she did not care for the fight. She had every intention of sitting back and waiting for Bran, but one of Adam’s wolves and a fae charged her. She played with them; she didn’t want to hurt them. 

Another of Adam’s snuck up on her, and she had to hurt him to stay in control of her situation. That’s when she heard Bran. Saw him standing there, felt him watching her. 

She wanted to make him  _ hurt. _ He hurt her, betrayed them. And she wanted him to feel that hurt. So he would understand. But she was no match for him, she knew that. And he knocked her out before she could accomplish her goal. 

 


	20. Chapter 20

They searched for two days with nothing to find.

The meeting with the fae had been quick and to the point. Alistair Beauclaire told them the witches were taking half fae who were left out in the world when the reservations were sealed off. He gave them a list of areas where these kidnappings were most common, and then he went with Charles to work with the FBI.

Adam had his wolves sweeping different parts of the Tri-cities in groups of three. They were all armed and at least one was to be in wolf form while they hunted for signs of the witches. Bran decided to have the pack of undead wolves help do the same.

Adda wasn't of much help, but Blue Jay Woman knew how to track, and Leah had always been a good fighter. It took Blue Jay Woman a few moments to adjust to the scents of the modern city, but she knew what she was looking for, unlike everyone else. She and David went with Bran, while Samuel stayed with Adda and Leah. Eric insisted on staying with them.

The first day, they swept upper Richland and found nothing, while Samuel’s group and Adam’s Warren swept the lower half. The second day, they did upper Kennewick. Nothing came of it but a phone call from Anna.

“A trucker picked her up and took her to a stop in Missoula. The waitress there says the other truckers gave her enough cash to take a greyhound to Pasco.” She told Bran.

Bran liked that even less than her being anywhere else. If Meara was in the Tri-cities,  she was too close to the witches. To his mother.

They took the other half of Kennewick today, where Mercy’s garage was and the local seethe was nearby. Blue Jay Woman wasn't pack, but Bran still managed to work the pack magic so that it obscured her wolf form, and made her look at least like a big dog.

Not that it mattered much. There were few people about. The dark atmosphere kept most of the humans inside. Those who were out looked ill, and seemed hyper focused on getting from point A to point B. Bran couldn't blame them.

Then Adam called, later in the evening with the setting sun.

“The witches are attacking the house.” Adam was driving, tires of his truck scraping as he sped down the road. He'd been in Pasco.

Blue Jay Woman was already loping back to the SUV. “We'll meet you there.” Bran said, hanging up. He and David ran after her and they sped to Adam’s house.

Adam lived in Finely, a good fifteen minutes from where they'd been. Bran shaved that drive time in half.

There was chaos on the road in front of the house. Several wolves were fighting, but who belonged to whom Bran couldn't tell. He saw humans fighting human wolves; no doubt the half fae that had been taken. There were fists and swords and magic; Adam’s yard was demolished.

He peeled to a stop and Blue Jay Woman was out first. She shook herself and a wave of her unique magic fell over the property. Four of the wolves stumbled and the half fae fell over. Somehow she'd shaken those under the witches, save for the female fighting Honey and Zee.

Bran charged into the nearest fight. “We have to hold them off until the wizard arrives to break their spell!” David told Adam’s wolves.

Adam’s people responded, working together like a well oiled machine. With the witch’s proxy momentarily stunned, wolves took wolves and did what they had to in order to disable them. Some crunched the bones in their legs, and some shattered the bones in their muzzles to stun them further.

Bran grabbed one of the half fae and punched him in the throat. It didn't kill him, but it sat him down hard. One of Adam’s wolves in human form, Paul, got him into a pin on the ground. The same went for the others.

Except for Zee and Honey.

The girl they fought was small and quick, dressed in jeans and a tight black sweater. There was blood in her golden blonde hair, wrapped in a tight, messy bun on her head. She was wielding a wicked long knife, brandishing it from her side. Her back was to Bran, but she certainly wasn't vulnerable there. Elliot charged behind and tried to hit her, but the girl spun and dragged her blade across Elliot’s chest, cutting deep. 

Zee swung his own wicked sword - flames traveled in its wake. The girl rolled and skittered the side of her blade along his to throw it off course. Honey charged forward and went for her side, but the girl ducked and dodged again. She was fast, and they were relentless.

Bran couldn't move. It was Meara.

“You learn quick, little wolf,” Zee was saying, “but you are outmatched. Surrender so we don't have to kill you.”

Meara was silent. She drifted a few paces away from them, keeping a smart distance. Her eyes were on Zee’s sword hand; Bran saw her make small adjustments to her grip. She was learning how to fight by watching Zee attack her. The brilliance and fierceness of it made her all the more beautiful.

Bran remembered to breathe again. “Meara,” He called, stepping forward.

She turned to him, and in a split second charged. He ducked when her blade went for his heart and smacked the knife from her hand. The thrust was sloppy. Less controlled than she'd been a moment ago. Her eyes were bright silver and she looked vicious, glaring at him.

He punched her in the chest. She gasped, but brought her leg up and would have kicked him hard enough to break ribs, hadn't he caught and stunted the blow with his left arm. He pushed his other arm into her throat and used her leg as leverage, knocking her into the ground. She swung a fist and he easily swayed out of its path.

She screamed in frustration when he restrained her, writhing and attempting to kick at him. She wanted to hurt him, badly. He used his weight to hold her legs down and locked her arms against her chest.

“Meara,” Bran said softly, close to her ear, “Stop. Listen to me.”

His power easily came, riding on the barely controlled rage. His hands trembled as it fell over them all. Some of Adam’s wolves were knocked to their knees. Zee stumbled. But Meara wasn't affected. She continued to scream and thrash, smelling of rage and blood.

Bran closed his eyes. Then he punched her hard enough to knock her out.

Samuel and Adam arrived. Eric slinked out of the car and mumbled something. The wolves and half fae all went very still, no longer fighting their captors. Eric said something else. The cool wash of his magic contradicted the feeling of fire that was in the air.

“Not quite broken, but she can't hold them.” Eric said. He was looking at Meara.

Bran stood. He scooped Meara into his arms, cradling her against his chest. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before looking at Adam.

“We’ll put her in the cage.”

* * *

Bran stayed downstairs for an hour, watching Meara sleep in Adam’s safe room. The cage was meant for uncooperative werewolves, thick steel bars lined with silver. Instead it only held the unconscious girl, laid down on a sturdy cot with a blanket draped over her. The wolves who had been enslaved by the witches were, instead, set in the medical room with guards.

Eric had looked her over, but said, in a lot of words that took Bran a moment to translate, that he wouldn't be able to tell what the witches did to her until she woke up. So Bran sat and waited. 

“Da,” Charles came downstairs with Samuel. They were the only ones who could stand to the wave of his fury that filled the safe room. “The half fae are talking. You'll want to hear what they have to say.”

Bran closed his eyes.

“Adam’s Honey said she'll stay and watch her.” Samuel added gently. Bran liked Honey. She was a fierce fighter, a good person. She'd be alright. For now.

Honey waited in the hall. He nodded to her, and she ducked her head once before slipping into the safe room and closing the door.

Leah and Adda were in the pack’s barracks with several other members of Adam’s pack. She was asleep, but Adda was watching the hall to the safe room with sad eyes. 

Bran went upstairs. The three half fae were huddled in the dining room, draped in blankets and pecking at the stew they were given. The one who seemed to know the most, the one Bran punched, smelled like forest and soil. He introduced himself as Luis.

He explained that there were only four witches. They had holed up somewhere at the edge of Walla Walla. He pointed it out on the map for Charles, who took the information to Leslie Fisher.

“They're panicking.” He told them. “now more than before. They needed us to fuel their magic. They said that pets made them stronger than sacrifices. And we were all they had.”

“So why send you all here?” Adam asked.

“They thought we could take the pack with the Alpha away. The girl told them they could. The wolf girl. She said the pack was weaker when the alpha was not there, more vulnerable.” Luis frowned at his food.

“Meara told them that - but that was a lie.” Adam clarified. “Why would they ask her?”

“The witch said she was an important person to the werewolves. Something was wrong with her. Something off.” Luis shook hi head. 

“Explain.” Bran said shortly. 

“She referred to herself in plural. She moved weird, like she wasn’t sure how to do it at times. The witch in charge was all over her a lot, and she was just...just a statue.” Luis explained.

“Her wolf is in control?” Charles asked softly. 

“The witch thinks she has her,” one of the other half fae murmured. The woman was thin and frail looking, but she’d thrown Auriele over her head like nothing. “The witch thinks she had her like us. But I don’t think she did. The wolf girl would smile at me when the witches looked away.” 

Bran glanced at David.

That was all the halflings had to give. The werewolves migrated to the kitchen to leave them be. Bran stood by the island, hands tight fists at his sides. 

“She is an Omega.” Charles pointed out. “Anna can be affected by black magic, but she was able to shake the spells Asil’s witch put on her. It’s possible their hold on her is imperfect.”

“But she was here, attacking with the rest of them. She hurt Elliot.” Darryl said shortly, arms crossed. He and Adam leaned on the counter by the stove, watching Bran with wary expressions.

“Elliot snuck up on her. She was playing with us,” Zee grumbled, “dragging out the fight. She never struck us, only tried to. There was no intent to kill in her. But then you showed up.” He turned to Bran. “As sloppy as it was, she wanted to kill you just now. Or at least hurt you.”

Bran didn’t say anything. He put a hand on the granite counter to steady himself. Blue Jay Woman came downstairs, still looking a little sweaty from her change. She looked at Bran and frowned. 

But she couldn’t help him. No one could, but Meara. And she was currently unconscious in the basement. 

“We won’t know anything until she wakes. Or at least until we find the witches.” Samuel said. The room was silent for a moment. Then Adam and Charles picked up a conversation on where the witches might be staying, bringing up the old warehouses and empty lots. Mercy piped in, pointing out a few locations. Darryl started dishing out food, from the big, big pot of stew on the stovetop.

They had time to settle, but they all had half their attention on Bran. When the greater predator in the room is on edge, everything else in the room was too. Maybe if he had been a little more in his right mind; maybe if he hadn’t been so shaken at the sight of Meara like that. Maybe if they were calmler, they would have noticed her beforehand. 

Instead Bran barely was able to dodge as the knife skittered past his face. Meara swung it after him, pouncing forward with all the liquid grace of her wolf. He caught her wrist; Charles grabbed her by the other arm and slammed her against the counter, restraining her. The knife dropped to the floor. Zee scooped it up and bent the blade.

She cried out when Charles pulled on her arm. “Bran!” She whined, tears in her eyes. They were still silver, but they were wide and frightened. The smell of her fear washed over them.

Bran didn’t see anything else for a moment, only his mate, the woman he loved in pain. His power poured from him, filling the suddenly small kitchen with rage and dominance. Everyone, everyone, buckled under the weight of it. Even his own son. Noise in the house said that the rest of the occupants felt it, too.

He spun and snarled impulsively at Charles. “Off,” he snapped, “ _ get off her _ .” It took all of him not to throw Charles off, but Charles obeyed the first time.

He took a step back, watching his father. Bran’s eyes were gold, and his rage was heavy in the air. Zee had a heavy grip on his blade, one knee propped up. The rest, even Blue Jay Woman and Adam, were forced to their knees by the weight of Bran’s raw power.

“Bran.” Meara said, sniffling. He grabbed her arm, pulling her close to him. He felt something in him shiver, pulling her against his chest. His power was drawn back into him, freeing the house from his wrath. Meara smiled, and then she punched him. 

It was an awkward hit; she was standing very close to him. Her fist connected with the side of his nose. He heard rather than felt it break, as she put all the strength she could muster into the blow. Bran slammed her back against the counter, pinning her by her arms.

She stared at him, the aggression gone. “Honey was supposed to be watching her.” Samuel said; Honey was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching with a pale face. Adam looked at her, and she shrugged. “She made a convincing argument.” She murmured, wrapping her arms around herself.

Meara blinked, slowly, not wavering from Bran’s gaze. Her eyes were silver as the moon, bright and strong. “We won't hit you again.” She said suddenly, voice soft. “Once was enough.”

Bran still didn't release her. He squeezed her arms painfully tight. She didn’t so much as flinch. She held his eyes, which were molten gold and bright now, unabashed. He growled. 

“Why do you want to hurt him?” Charles asked. They weren’t certain if she was under the witch’s control or not. 

“Because he hurt us.” She jutt her chin out at Bran, before glancing Blue Jay Woman. “Betrayal of the coldest kind. We wanted him to feel something, from us.”

Bran’s hands trembled. His control was wearing thin. 

Adam gave some unseen signal. Darryl guided Honey and Zee from the kitchen. Mercy stayed put, beside Adam and across the kitchen island from Bran and Meara.

Meara sighed. Her back arched awkwardly against the edge of the granite counter. “Please,” she said gently, but still sounding annoyed, “will you let go?”

Bran finally released Meara. Instead of moving away from the counter, she climbed and sat atop it. She stretched her neck; it popped, loudly. She looked at Bran for a moment, before reaching and plucking a napkin from across the counter and holding it out to him. 

Bran reset his nose, still watching her with pale gold eyes. He took the napkin and wiped away the blood before it stained his shirt. The air was still tense, but Bran seemed to be restraining himself.

“The halfling described this. The wolf in the fore.” Samuel said softly. “But I didn’t think it was like this. She’s so young - perhaps because she is an Omega, is why her wolf can play along so well.”

“Is something wrong with her?” Mercy asked, frowning. “The black magic?”

“Something is wrong that the human is pushed aside. It isn’t natural for the wolf to be this autonomous.” Charles noted. 

Meara cocked her head at them, smiling playfully. “My clever little ones,” she cooed, “you can just  _ ask _ us. We will tell.” 

Samuel raised a brow. “Then tell us. Why is the wolf in control?” He asked. 

Meara swayed her feet back and forth, like a child. The rest of her body stayed still as marble. “Because the human lacks the will to resist.” She said carefully. “If we had stayed as we should, she would have listened when the witch told her to heel.”

“But isn’t that what  _ you _ did?” Adam pressed. Meara smiled. “ _ I  _ played pretend. The witch cannot control us, not with magic. She may influence us, but we could never be truly enslaved as the others were. But we were stranded here, alone and hurt - what chance do we stand against witches and their pets?” 

“So you pretended to be their pet, and fed them lies to throw them off.” Charles clarified. “You manipulated them to make your way here.”

“We had little else in options.” Meara looked at Bran through her lashes. “We were alone.”

“You left Aspen Creek.” Samuel said. “Ran away.”

Meara sighed. “Annoyance.” She ground out. “ _ She _ ignored _ me _ . Did what the black magic encouraged. It wasn’t until we were here that she finally heard me.”

“Meara ignored you.” Said Samuel. Meara smiled again. “We  _ are _ Meara. I am Meara. We are the same, Samuel. The human and wolf - same. Just different...instincts.” She glanced at Charles and winked.

“Why does the human lack the will to resist?” Asked Mercy. Meara cocked her head in a wolf like manner and blinked at Mercy. “Mercedes.” She dragged out the ‘s’ sounds. “Mercy - we have been hurt, in the worst of ways. Our mate betrayed our heart.” She leaned towards Mercy, away from Bran. “We have been left all alone. Loneliness is the greatest killer of men.”

Bran’s hand closed around her knee, drawing her attention once more. Meara blinked slowly at him - and Eric stumbled into the room. 

“Oh, oh oh!” He crowed. “There you are!” 

Bran took a deep breath as the madman swayed over. “Sweetling, are you lost?” Eric made a beeline for Meara. Bran suddenly stepped in front of him; Eric bumped into his chest, bouncing back with a frown. He held his hands up. “Fix it?” 

Meara watched with a blank expression. “There is magic in us, Bran.” She said softly. “Until it is gone, we keep the way we are. Let him help us.”

Eric grinned, smug, at Bran. Meara’s foot reached and touched Bran’s side, nudging him aside. 

Bran took one step to the side. “Just do it, then.” He snapped. His voice was low and dangerous. 

Eric reached and took Meara’s face in his hands. She leaned towards him, eyes closed, but there was some sort of tension in her body. Eric murmured and mumbled at her. Blood dripped down her nose and she shivered. The scent of magic flushed the room. 

Meara whined. She leaned back and wiped her nose. “Ugh,” she braced one arm on the counter, “where am I?”

Eric wandered away without a word. Meara started to slide off the counter, but she pitched and fell. Bran caught her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “Bran?” She blinked. “Bran - I hit you.” She reached, touching the tenderly healing nose.

“Hush,” he told her, voice low. 

“You can take the guest room upstairs, the peach room.” Adam said suddenly. “We should all settle for the night, anyways.” 

Bran nodded. Meara wobbled, but he helped her upstairs and into the aforementioned guest room. He closed the door. Meara stumbled, sitting heavily on the bed. “This is - Adam Hauptman’s house, right?” She asked, sounding drowsy. She rubbed her eyes. “I remember - I came here. Washington. I left.”

“You did.” Bran muttered. He kept his back to her. “Because I hurt you.” 

Meara frowned, blinking. “Wha…” She rubbed her eyes again. “No, that’s not true-”

Bran was suddenly standing over her. She jumped in her spot, startled. Her fear washed over him briefly, straining at his control. “I hurt you.” He put his hands on either side of her head, burying them in her hair. “Do not lie. Do not attempt to hide the truth from me.” His eyes were still so very, very gold.

Meara blinked up at him. Her eyes were that dark grey again, with the blue gathered around her pupils. Her eyes were always so wide and childlike in appearance. She was so young, he remembered painfully. Too young for her eyes to show such pain.

“Why wouldn’t you even look at me?” She whispered, heartbroken. Bran’s stony expression cracked. His brows pinched and his hands pushed her hair from her face.

“It’s not -  _ ugh _ , it’s not fair.” She buried her face in her hands, hiding the tears that came. “I was lonely, for such a long time. Even before Jethro - and then you - you -”

She couldn't stop the tears when they slid down her cheeks. She began to shiver as she held back her sobs. “You came in and made everything better. And you’re so  _ nice _ , and you’re good to your pack, and - and what chance does a girl stand against that? I was even OK with - you couldn’t love me, that was alright. But then - you couldn’t  _ look at me. _ I gave you everything I had to offer, but it didn’t stand a candle to even the theory of her being there. You shut me out and I felt...alone. Lonely and -  _ used! _ ”

Meara broke into sobs, all tears and sorrow. Bran felt shame and guilt - she entrusted him her heart, and he may as well have thrown it in a blender. She didn’t react as he knelt and settled his head against her shoulder. 

He waited until her sobs subsided. “I hurt you,” he said again, “I had never intended that. I shut you out because my pain is not your burden to bear.”

“I’m your mate.” She didn’t move. “It is.”

“It is.” He agreed, lowering himself so that his head rested on her thighs. Meara sat up slightly, wiping away her tears and looking at him. She kept her face as smooth as she could manage. “It was the wrong choice to make. I trust you - but I did not trust myself to make your pain worse.”

“You couldn’t even look at me.” She reminded him. 

“No, I couldn’t.” He closed his eyes. “Looking at you was worse than looking at her. It was cowardice; avoiding the guilt I felt anyways, not looking at you.” 

She sniffled. “I know what I wrote in the letter,” she said softly, “but I wasn’t going to leave. The witch took the things I was feeling and made them worse, made them loud. Added enough to fuel to the fire that I couldn’t hear anything above the flames, even my own common sense. I’m sorry I let her take advantage of me.” 

“Do not apologize,” he wrapped his hands around her knees, “for what she did to you. For what I caused you.”

He tried, again - to let her in. To open the bond and feel her again. But still it did not budge. 

“You didn't try to fix it.” She whispered. “Haven't. It hurts more feeling alone like this. It physically hurts. I’m on my own, completely, out here. I...I don't know what to do.”

The tears dripped down her cheeks, sad and free. She never cried this much before she met Bran. Never. Only when her family died; only when Jethro asked her to kill him.

“I was wrong - I was too blind to see what I had in front of me.” Bran said into her thigh. Meara took a small breath. Bran was always an honest person; but an alpha did not lightly admit their weakness. It showed he had trust in her, and that only made her emotions churn harder.

“I know you can’t love me, and I know you love her.” Meara said. “But I love you, and it hurts. I - she’s here now. You don’t need me anymore.”

“No, no -” That stirred Bran, suddenly and sharply. He sat up and grabbed her waist, pulling her towards him. “No. Never.” He said. “I will never do that to you.”

She knew he was telling the truth; but the pain in her chest, the lonely ache, made her not want to believe him. 

“I do love her.” He told her softly. “I will always love her. I can't change that. She is the mother of my son, the woman who died to bring me some form of happiness.”

Meara wiped her tears on her sleeve. Nothing he was saying was helping.

“But she died.” Bran said. “And what we were died with her. She knows it, I know it. I can’t - won’t go back to her, toss you aside for her.”

“Then let me back  _ in. _ ” Meara said pathetically. “Please. It hurts, being shut out. There’s a hole in me and it aches.”

Bran  _ tried _ . He took her in his hands and kissed her, and she melted into his kiss. He pushed her against the pillows and loved every inch of her, with the words he hadn’t said yet. He offered himself to her and she accepted him, welcomed him back to her. But still the bond did not budge. 

She sat up when they were spent, eyes watery with tears. “Why?” She whispered, heartbroken. Bran gripped her hands. “It won’t open.” He admitted painfully. “I want nothing more than to have you again - but I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”

Her eyes went wide with horror. “Did I break it?” She asked, in terrified whisper. “By running away?”

Bran considered the theory - then shook his head. “No.” He said. “Something else. It could just be you are not ready to forgive me. I broke your trust. Your heart needs time to heal.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, tears streaming down her cheeks once more. He pulled her into his arms, and she curled against him. “It’s hard to know what I feel, with the emptiness. It makes thinking without being sad hard.” She said, pressing her ear to his chest.

Bran tightened his hold on her. “You don’t have to forgive me right away. Time heals all things,” he said softly, “and I will wait for you as long as you need.” 

She sighed. 


	21. Chapter 21

Meara woke early in the morning. 

She felt strange. Her toes were cold, but she was warm. Bran was wrapped around her, sharing his warmth with her under the sheets. Yet somehow, her toes were still cold. 

She shifted, but Bran’s arms were like iron bars around her body, locking her against his chest. He wasn’t sleeping peacefully, but it was a quiet and calm enough sleep. Meara pressed her nose to his skin and inhaled, breathing in his scent. It was mixed with hers, woven together in a comforting concoction that settled her wolf. 

The bond was still tightly closed. She still felt cold and alone inside, but there was something. Some small warmth that tricked into her from the barest of cracks.

Bran was right. He broke her heart, broke her trust. It was the one thing she'd never given to anyone in earnest before; he was the first. And he'd broken it.

Meara, for all the ache she felt, understood. She always made a point of seeing the other side; of  _ understanding _ . It did little to help the ache, but knowing and understanding was a small form of comfort. Blue Jay Woman was his first mate. Love at first sight. She was everything to him, even in death. Of  _ course _ his attention would be drawn to her upon her resurrection.

But Meara was his mate now. And something young and small in her, the part of her that still cried for her mother in times of strain, saw something. Saw it in his eyes when he looked at her. She had given herself hope for something that she'd already been told she couldn't have. But did that really matter anymore?

_ No. _ The wolf whispered.

Did she forgive him? Yes. Meara thought it was stupid to be angry over something that can't be helped. But her trust...that was a hard earned prize. It would take her time to trust him wholly again.

Meara listened to his steady heartbeat. Briefly, she wondered why her wolf was so...independent. The others had been disturbed by the notion. Perhaps there was something wrong with her. Whatever the reason, her wolf had saved them from the witch and her magic.

The witch. They would deal with her. Together. 

Bran stirred. His arms tightened, as if he feared her being gone in his state of half-sleep. She pressed her face to his chest and waited for his breathing to calm again.

“You’re here.” He mumbled, clinging to her so tightly her shoulders lifted. 

“I won’t go anywhere again.” She whispered, eyes still closed. “Not without you.”

His fingers tangled in her hair; there was still blood in her long, blonde locks. “I had thought pushing you out would keep you from sharing my hurt,” he told her softly, “but it made you hurt more.” 

She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. Her forgiveness - because he  _ had _ hurt her, had broken her heart - was a balm his own aching heart. “It's alright, now. I just need time.” She murmured, stroking his arm. “Time, plenty you will have.” He said back.

She squirmed to loosen his grip, and leaned up to kiss him. “We’ll get through this.” She assured him. She was feeling her confidence again. Feeling like herself again.

They showered together, only because he seemed unwilling to let her far from him. One of the females in Adam’s pack had left clothes for her, the shirt being one from Adam’s security company. Meara was short, but her hips were much wider and her bust was large, making the clothes tight and loose in awkward places. She rolled up the jeans and tucked in the t-shirt in before slipping on the sneakers. Bran walked downstairs behind her, not letting himself get more than a foot away. She sighed, reaching back and taking his hand in hers. 

All of Bran’s people had stayed in Adam’s house for the night. It had just become a possible priority target, with the proxy of the witches all here. It had already been a tight squeeze with the pack all here; Meara caught sight of people sleeping in the living room and media room as they went to the kitchen. 

Adam was awake, in the kitchen with Mercy and the female wolf Meara now remembered to be Honey. There was a plate of chocolate cookies on the kitchen island; Meara reached and snagged one.

Adam nodded to Bran, pouring them coffee. He smiled curtly to Meara. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” He offered his hand. She shook it. “Adam Hauptman. This is my mate, Mercedes.”

“Meara Delaney.” She said, shaking Mercy’s hand next. “I’ve heard terrible things.” She told Mercy with a smile. Mercy winked.

“Agent Fisher will be prepared to raid their base by noon.” Charles said, wandering into the kitchen with Samuel yawning behind him. “She's prepared to have us be there and assist.”

“What?” Meara frowned. “No. We can’t go there.”

“We need to end this.” Bran said softly. Meara put a hand on his arm. She looked afraid; her eyes were wide and her grip was tight enough to bruise anyone else. “She wanted me to bring you to her; that’s what she told me to do.” Something in her voice quivered. “The witch wants you there.”

“I’ll give her what she wants,” Bran took her hand, frowning at her, “so I can kill her.”

“ _ No, _ ” Meara said, her voice coming out as half a stubborn whine, “there’s something there. Fighting them there would be a fatal mistake.” The wolf recalled the horrible feeling that had been there. She began to shiver, looking away from Bran and down at her shoes. Bran squeezed her hand. 

“What do you suggest we do, then?” Adam asked. 

Meara slumped; she still shivered slightly. “I don’t know. We just - we can’t go there. They’ll win if we try to fight them there.” She said softly. She was so very afraid of whatever lingered there. Bran wrapped his arm around her and pressed her back to his chest.

“We could draw them out. We have all their pets.” Mercy suggested. “I bet the Grey Lords can help set a trap.”

“Theoretically.” Charles agreed. “But as long as their place of power stands, taking them on will be difficult. We have to take out their hideout somehow.”

“Send someone to burn it down?” Honey asked Adam. He shook his head. “Too risky.” He concluded. “There's no telling if they'd be able to ensnare whoever we send.”

“How about,” said Bran, “we give everyone else time to wake up, and discuss this over a pack meeting. Charles can invite Alistair Beauclaire and Agent Fisher to the meeting as well.” He was giving Adam a suggestion, because they were in his home. Mercy glanced at Bran; he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at Meara, eyes half lidded as he stroked her arm with his other hand.

Adam agreed. “Think they can get here by lunch?” He asked Charles, who nodded and left to make the phone call.

“I should talk to Eric.” Meara mumbled to Bran, touching his arm. “He knows more. If I can get him to focus enough he'll be able to tell me what he knows.”

“When did you last eat?” Bran asked instead of addressing it. Meara blinked, before smiling sheepishly. “Ah, there was this diner I was in a few days ago…”

Adam and Mercy got cracking on breakfast. Adam, Bran knew, could  _ really _ cook. “No work until your belly is full.” Bran told her, pulling away so he could stand half in front of her.

“Is it bad that I'm not hungry?” Meara asked softly. She spoke with a mix of genuine confusion and shame. Bran frowned. It was possible the magic had affected her. Or worse, something depressing and sad - but whether it did or not, she needed to eat.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” He handed her another cookie. “Let's just feed you anyways.”

* * *

Adam had enough food for a siege, thankfully. Everyone was given a full and hearty breakfast, especially Meara. Despite her not feeling hungry, she still ate two heaping servings of everything, from the pancakes to the grits. Adam, who had grown up in the south, made her old fashioned biscuits and gravy when she mentioned her mother's southern cooking. She ate that all, too.

The pack would meet at lunch, when Leslie Fisher and Alistair Beauclaire would be there to meet them. Adam offered Meara his office, so that she could ‘talk’ to Eric. 

Bran refused to leave her alone, even with Eric. She didn’t have the heart to argue; she didn’t feel safe being too far from him, as it was. So he propped his chair by the wall while she sat on the floor with Eric. 

“It’s just us in here, Eric.” Meara crossed her legs and smiled at Eric. He glanced at Bran suspiciously. “I trust him, so you can, too.” Meara said, gesturing. “You don’t have to worry about anyone else. You can relax.” She pat his leg. She grasped for her power, fumbling a little - she was still unsure, still a little broken. But she was at peace, mostly, with the assurance of Bran staying at her back. She took that peace and let it settle in the air around them, offering it to Eric. 

Eric slouched when she touched him, sighing. “You think you can focus enough to tell me what I need to know?” She asked softly. He leaned against the front of Adam’s desk, nodding with a drowsy expression. 

“What are the witches planning to do?” Meara asked, leaning forward. “Do they really want to awaken Cthulhu or the like?” 

Eric sighed. “They want to make it untrue.” He said, eyes closed. “But they couldn’t wake him up. Not nearly enough power.” 

Meara paused. “So what part of it will be made untrue?”

Eric drummed his fingers on his knees. Meara considered. “In his house at R’lyeh…” She said softly. “They...want to bring R’lyeh to the surface? Back to the earthly plane?”

Eric smiled, eyes still closed. “Clever girl.” He murmured. 

“That makes more sense.” Meara said, more to herself. She propped an elbow on her knee. “It's been described, happening in one of the boos. An earthquake brought a portion of the city to the surface.”

“ _ The Call of Cthulhu _ .” Bran quipped, tilting his chair so that it balanced on two legs, and his own legs hovered in the air. “I’ve read it.”

Meara frowned at Eric. “How many of the witches are Cult of Dagon?” She asked. He leaned a little closer to her. “Once there was seven. Now only two.” He opened his eyes. “One of them has seen more than her share.” 

“She’s seen, what, a Great Old One?” Meara tilted her head. “Witnessed something of the Outer Gods?”

Eric shook his head and looked her in the eye. “She saw what you saw. Was there when you were. But he didn’t touch her like he touched you. My special, smart student.” He took her hand.

Meara blinked, and the it felt like the floor dropped out from under her when she realized what he was talking about. “I-” She swallowed, peeling her fingers from his. “I thought - they were all dead. Everyone else died. Did they bring her back from the dead, too?” She was afraid, but  _ not _ because of the memories. Bran’s chair touched the ground softly.

“She lived, too. Barely. Do you remember her face? No, I think not. They didn’t give you the opportunity to see them.” Eric stroked his beard. “She saw what you saw, but she isn’t you. Not touched, not special. That makes her jealous. She looked for you for a while, after. She came and asked me - that was after the wolves took you away.”

Meara put a hand against the desk and slid a foot away from Eric. He watched her with sharper eyes than usual; the glaze of madness faded and had left something that made her uncomfortable. Bran stayed in his chair, but both feet were firmly on the ground as he watched now. 

“Did you tell him yet?” Eric asked, sounding smug as he leered at her. Bran had a feeling he was asking about something completely different, but related.

“I never told anybody but you.” Meara said softly. “And Jillian.” 

Eric bumped his head against the desk. “Oh, poor Jillian. Sacrifice - I thought I was ready, but who ever is? She was so strong, though. She was necessary.”

The cold in Meara’s toes began to spread up her legs. “Doctor Jorgensen.” She spoke softly, as the possibilities began to weave together in a truth she hadn’t thought of before. “Doctor Jorgensen, you had a copy of the Necronomicon, didn’t you?”

“Greek.” Eric tilted his head side to side. 

“You gave it to them, didn’t you?” Meara’s voice cracked.

Bran leaned forward. The room was deathly quiet for a moment, as Eric stopped breathing and looked Meara in the eye.

“Well of course I did!” He said suddenly and loudly, breaking the silence with a wave of his hand. He laughed. “They couldn’t find one on their own, could they?”

Meara stood - but Bran still stayed put. Waiting. “Why?” She asked. There was a different kind of heartbreak in her voice. A betrayal that cut into different parts of her heart. “You helped a witch who tried to kill me, and gave her and her friends a weapon like that?”

“For  _ you _ !” Eric laughed. “Who else would I go to such lengths for? My sweet girl - helper. Do you know what you are?” He said something, in a language neither understood. Meara recognized some of the garbled words as the same language the phrase of Cthulhu was spoken in.

She sucked in a breath. “You helped them bring back the dead.” She accused. “Why those dead? Why that witch?”

“That was for you, too. Because of  _ him _ .” Eric glowered at Bran now, his weathered face turning cold and bitter. Bran stood. 

“You - you shouldn’t be wolf. Too soft, too sweet. Filth - it pollutes you, so precious. Makes you broken.” Eric hissed. “He pollutes you. Ruins you.”

“Bran didn’t make me a werewolf.” Meara bit out. Her hands were shaking now, but she kept herself between Bran and Eric. “Jethro did. I killed Jethro.” 

“Good, not good enough.” Eric slumped, back arching as he leaned forward. “Don’t you know what you are? So precious - you deserve the world. He makes you incomplete.” 

“What have you done?” Meara whispered, the horror in her face now. “What did you do, Eric?” 

“I’d hoped his ghosts would kill him, given flesh. Instead they hurt you,” Eric clicked his tongue, “more of his fault. I should just do it myself.”

Bran grabbed Meara’s arms and pulled her back, putting himself between them. 

“My sweet student - my messiah. You carry the touch of the  _ gods _ in your flesh, and he keeps you from bearing your fruit. From passing the gift on.” Eric traced a circle in the carpet. 

“You did  _ all of this _ ,” Meara’s eyes welled with tears, “all those people are dead.  _ Jillian is dead. _ Because you’re mad I can’t have  _ kids _ anymore?!” 

Eric sighed. He stood. Bran should have snapped his neck before he got that far, but Meara had a iron grip on his hand, holding him against her. Eric touched his heart. The air of a madman was gone. “Messiah.” He shook his head. “Your gift of help won’t last long. I must do right by you. Werewolves are scum, sweet Meara. Let me purge this filth.”

“I’d rather you let me kill you.” Meara said angrily. “How dare you - I don’t -” She wiped her cheeks. “I hate you.” 

Eric looked hurt when she said that. “You should have been my daughter.” He murmured. “Your father didn’t appreciate you, either. Didn’t see what you could grow to become. If he had, he would have never left you. Your grandfather had seen it, but the old man died before he could help you bloom. You should have been mine so I could have loved you as I did my Jillian.”

“Jillian’s dead because of you!” Meara snapped. “Go fuck yourself with that self-righteous bullshit of yours!”

“You died once, too.” Eric had a tear fall down his gaunt cheek. He turned away, wiping his face.

Bran snatched a pen from Adam’s desk at the same time he sprung forward. He’d intended to drive it into the back of Jorgensen’s skull, right before snapping his neck. Instead, his hands met mist, and Jorgensen was gone.

Meara clutched her stomach and stumbled. The scent of her fear and panic filled the office. “Oh my god,” she wheezed, “this is all my fault. I did this.”

Bran left the office and found Adam and David right as they were charging from the kitchen, sensing that something was wrong. “Search the house - Doctor Jorgensen is in league with the witches.” He told them sharply. He didn't wait to see if they'd listen. He went back to Meara. She had her back pressed against the wall and she was breathing fast. She was outright panicking, her body trembling and her eyes going pale.

Bran took her into his arms and pressed her tightly to his chest. “Enough,  _ enough _ .” He bit out, holding her.

“I should have told you about it-” Meara said into his chest. “Oh my god.”

Bran squeezed her tighter. “Then pull yourself together and tell me now.” He ground out. The beast was shivering inside him, eagerly waiting to come to the fore. There many threats around them, too much potential danger for his mate to be in; and the bond was not wholesome to reassure either of them.

Meara peeled back and pressed herself back against the wall. “I don't remember most of it.” She closed her eyes. “My fourteenth birthday, there were witches. They took me, other people too, and used us to call something. They hurt us, tortured us to use our pain. The scars went away with the Change - except for my back.”

Bran was still holding her arms. He waited patiently for her to continue.

“Whatever they summoned killed them all - or, I thought it did. I don't remember what it was, but I remember how wrong it seemed. How it made everything feel like it was going to crumble around me. It was a real, honest to god monster. It touched me - and it left a mark. Just blackness, like an inkblot in my skin. I tattooed over it, but the mark makes up most of the color of the tattoo.” She shook her head. “I'm so stupid. I should have told you. I just wanted to forget about it. I thought Eric was - he helped me after, helped me recover. He told me that what I'd been touched by was something from Lovecraft. He - I'm so  _ stupid _ .”

She put her hands over her face, body trembling. More than anything, Bran wished the bond was open now.

Bran used his sleeve to dry her cheeks and pulled her into his arms. “You're not stupid.” He told her sharply. “And you're not in the wrong, keeping that to yourself and trying to live past it. But you can trust  _ me _ , now.” He spoke softer now. She sniffled. “I'm trying.” She whispered.

Adam appeared in the doorway. “He's not in the house.” Adam said, eyes sharp and pale. “It's probably safe to assume if he's working with the witches, he gone to them.”

“It probably is.” Bran said. Meara pulled away and dried her eyes. “He's going to be harder to kill.” She said, pulling herself together. “I know a lot about him, but not that much.”

“You'll tell us everything you know, then.” Bran said.

“Perfectly timed, too. Beauclaire and Agent Fisher are a few minutes out.”


	22. Chapter 22

Neither Adam’s office nor the pack boardroom had enough space for everyone, so chairs were set up in the garage. Bran and his people, including Meara now, sat up front with Adam and Mercy, and the wolves and half fae from the witches were sat along the side. Leslie Fisher came with Alistair Beauclaire, and they sat beside Charles.

Leslie Fisher was very understanding when Meara relayed the revelation of Eric Jorgensen’s betrayal. Alistair Beauclaire seemed less understanding, but other than a disturbed expression he kept that to himself.

“So what do we do now, then?” Darryl rubbed a hand down his face. “Are the ones he helped free from the witches in danger?”

“Maybe.” Meara shrugged. She was slumped in her chair, leaning against Bran’s side. Someone had given her a jacket to bundle up in. “Perhaps not Blue Jay Woman or Leah, since she used her own magic to help them. But the rest of us, there might still be hooks in us.”

“If she hasn't called us yet, then we will worry about that later.” David said firmly. “First we plan how to stop them. Killing a witch is one thing. How do we kill Jorgensen?”

Meara wouldn't look at any for the shame. “Like anyone else. That's not the problem; he's harder to get to. He comes from this…different world. Dimension. It's called the Dreamlands, a place where we go in our dreams. Eric was a wizard of sorts there, until he fell in love with a dreamer. He brought himself here to be with her, but she died giving birth to his daughter.” Meara stopped, considering. “Wizards here on earth do a lot of physical magic, right? He's like that, though he's capable of different things. I'm not sure what his limits are.”

“Great. A bleeding madman with magic.” Mumbled Ben, of Adam’s pack.

The pack threw around ideas. Some wanted to siege the witch lair, but Adam vetoed that plan. Ideas on traps were tossed about and Alistair Beauclaire seemed more inclined to assist in that field.

Bran was silent for a while. Meara could tell he wanted to go and kill not just his mother, but Eric, immediately. She felt guilty, shameful. She should have told him sooner, about her fourteenth birthday. About her run in with the witches.

_ Don't let yourself sink into the guilt. _ Bran glanced at her, taking her hand.  _ I think the black magic may still be affecting you. Do not be ashamed for keeping that to yourself. _

But it's so hard, she thought to herself. She closed her eyes and felt for the bond. It was still sealed closed, but warmth feathered about the edges.

_ It will be whole with time _ .  _ I will be here for you _ . 

She blinked at him. He squeezed her hand, warm and reassuring.

The thought came as if it'd been waiting. “Oh sh-shoot,” she said, “the Necronomicon.”

All eyes settled on her again. “The book they have. The Necronomicon. That's probably what they've bound their power too, not the place they’re hiding in.”

“The grimoire?” David rubbed his jaw. “It makes sense.”

“It's not a grimoire in the classic sense.  _ An image of the law of the dead _ , sort of, is what Lovecraft said the name meant. It's not - he never really described it. There's spells in it, but there's a lot of other things in it, too.” Meara shook her head. “I know there's a way to resurrect the dead in it. The other things aren’t spells, but they’re - it’s like a bestiary in some parts, a history book in others.”

“So you think they would bind themselves to this book?” Adam asked. Meara nodded. “I didn’t see it, when I was there.”

“I did.” Said the female half fae. “They take turns carrying it. It whispers.” She pulled her legs up into her chair.

“Our goal is to destroy this book, then.” Alistair said. “Would they bring it, should we lay a trap for them?” He was looking at Meara. She looked at David. “I wouldn't know.” She said softly.

“It depends on what we bait them with.” David said thoughtfully.

The conversation went from there. The halflings and ever silent werewolf pets were eventually dismissed by Adam, when it was obvious they had nothing else to contribute. The conversation was making them uncomfortable. Bran’s three wolves slinked after Louis and the half fae into the house.

Meara turned to Bran. “I'm going to...go with them. Sit. I don't think there's anything I can contribute to the conversation.” She whispered, before pausing and looking up at him. “I need to breathe.” She admitted.

Bran kissed her forehead. He understood. Eric’s betrayal was fresh in her. This talk made her feel worse. She stood and slipped out after the lot of them, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Meara and the small cluster of half fae went to the garden. Oddly, the wolves slinked down to the pack barracks. They wanted to sleep, but they didn't want to be near Meara.

“Omega soothes.” The tallest whispered; if she recalled, he was from the Sal - pack. “We want to be alert and ready if they come.”

She nodded, understanding. She fetched herself a glass of water and went out the front yard with the faelings. They sat in silence, watching the afternoon sky.

And then, Meara felt the pull.

The drinking glass slipped from her fingers, but she didn’t hear it shatter on the ground. She looked up at the half fae, and for a moment she could see the magic as it was. Black, sticky webs that clung to their flesh, staining where it held. The webs pulled, like someone pulling a net, and the half fae lurched when she did. 

Meara’s wolf rose to the surface and  _ tore _ at the magic. With tooth and claw she struggled to rip free, but there was - something. It made the magic like mist where she tried to break it, made her dizzy and weak. 

_ Come to me, my daughter-by-law. _ Cooed the witch. And Meara let out a sob when she felt her body obey. 

The strange-something-magic kept the lot of them hidden when they took one of Adam’s SUV’s. The female halfling drove, while Meara twitched and writhed and  _ sobbed _ in the passenger seat. She tried to call for Bran, for her pack and her mate. But the ever closed bond left her alone.

Meara felt the magic grow stronger, the closer they got. She felt her body lose its ability to protest as the miles got smaller. Only her mind, her heart resisted, but that was not enough. 

Meara’s vision swam and she was forced to close her eyes while they drove on. She put her hands over her ears - not because she wanted to. When they parked, the witch ordered her to stay put. The halflings clamored out of the car, leaving her alone. Meara gripped the door so hard she broke the plastic bits.

Then the witch spoke to her again.  _ Change, my sweet pet. Wolf you must be. _

The Change hurt worse than usual. The shift and break of bone made her whole body feel like fire and her fur felt like knives coming through her skin. It was hard, because the passenger seat didn’t leave her a lot of space and everything was  _ touching _ her. When she was done, she sat awkwardly, breathing hard.

Eric opened the door for her, smiling. “There you are.” He said sweetly, touching between her ears. “I’m going to make it all better, don’t you worry.”

* * *

Meara didn’t pay attention to the time as it passed. Bran’s mother kept her at her side, close enough to touch her at all times. She still liked to touch her, liked to pet and stroke her fur like she were a dog. “My pretty pet.” She called her. “You aren’t as pretty as the other two wives. But I see why he keeps you.” She smiled, and Meara wished her body would respond when she wanted to rip her throat out. 

The witch fed from her, but she didn't cut or bleed Meara. The magic drew from her and what else she needed, the witch drained from the halflings. It kept the wolf back, at most. Meara wondered why the witch didn't torment her; she had a feeling it was part to do with Eric.

He, unfortunately, stayed close, too. He, she wanted to  _ crunch _ in her jaws. Violence wasn’t what made her feel better, but she knew that his death would be the thing that ended this. He didn’t touch her when the witch was around, but he stared at her, and he would mumble under his breath so low she couldn’t understand. 

After some time, the witch started leaving her alone with him. They were doing things to the half fae; rushing to gather as much power as they could before they took on the packs. Because they would take on Bran and Adam, Meara knew. 

And after that same amount of time, just before the witch began to leave Meara with Eric, Meara had a breakthrough. The bond slipped open, a barest of cracks. She didn’t know what did it. Her power as an Omega was not a weapon like that, and she was not witchblood to use magic on her own. She suspected Bran, who had power like that, who was witchblood, had been wearing down on the other side.

She could start to hear his voice, and he could feel sparse emotions from her. They couldn’t speak to each other as if in conversation, yet. He could manage to see not through her eyes, but through her other senses, in some way. Bran knew the witches had her in the same warehouse they'd discussed raiding. He knew his mother was always close, and he knew when Eric was, too.

The first time she was alone with him, Eric sat and lifted each one of her paws, methodically, checking them over and over again. The second time, he made her sit in his lap so he could rub his hands all through her fur. He checked her teeth and her ears and mumbled to himself. Bran cooed to her when he sensed her discomfort. 

The third time, he stopped the witch before she could leave, in the doorway to the small room he liked to stay in. “Make her human again.” He told her. “So I can examine her. See what to fix.” 

The witch raised a brow. She didn’t look like Bran, or even his children or Adda. Meara suspected that when David said they’d pieced her a new body, they’d literally done such. The skin of her arms didn’t match the rest of her, and her face had lines that spoke of more age than her young body. Her dark hair was long enough to be tied out of the way, but still short. 

“Do not break my new pet, Jorgensen.” She murmured to him. “I care not what love you have for her.”

“Change her.” Eric pressed.

The witch looked at Meara. “You can Change, my sweet.” She cooed. “Let your skin be human for a time. And listen to what this old fool tells you.” The magic shivered in Meara, and the witch left the room.

_ Why does he wants me human _ ? Meara thought, unsure. She trotted a few paces away from the door and dropped to the ground. The Change was as long as it had been yesterday - it had been nearly a full day since they’d taken her again, so Bran told her. But it hurt more, made her ache more and shiver after.

“There, now. Much better.” Eric said, when Meara finished Changing. Her body was raw from the effort, sweating and shivering. She struggled to lift herself up; even with the compulsion, she didn’t want to be left in such a vulnerable position with a threat in the room with her.

Eric pulled a rusted, metal folding chair to the center of the room. It clattered loudly. “Sit, please.” He said sweetly. Meara obeyed, albeit her movements were jerky with resistance. The magic was a little less forceful when the witch wasn’t the one commanding her.

Eric rolled up his sleeves. “It will take time to cure this filth. Werewolves are nasty things. You should never have been one.” He pushed her shoulders back, forcing her to lean against the chair. He prodded and squeezed her body by the handful, testing her flesh. “Too soft. Too perfect for this. We’ll have to fix you.”

He pushed her knees apart and knelt; he chided her, ordering her to sit still when she squirmed. Her eyes burned holes into the far wall. 

“You should be able to pass on what you are.” He mumbled. His hands were dry and his fingers were as cold as the chair she sat in. And then his whole, dry, bony hand was horrible and  _ in her _ . She smelled her own blood.

“Hm...it isn’t what’s in this that he broke, what is in the rest of you...this will be complex.” He rubbed the inside of her thigh with his free hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll still find a way to fix you.” He smiled up at her, and the smile was too intimate. It was as if he didn't see the tears streaming down her stony cheeks.

There was a knock at the door. “We need your help.” One of the witches said, not opening the door. “Play with her later.”

Eric sighed. He wiped his hands on his jeans, smearing blood and other things, and kissed Meara, longer and harder than he should have if he wanted her to be his daughter. “You should dress. They'll fetch you when it's time.” He closed the door loudly behind him.

Meara brought her knees together. She leaned forward, breathing hard. Blood was dripping from the chair, pooling between her feet. She felt sick. Dirty and violated. She wanted to scald her skin off with acid. She didn't  _ understand why _ .

She thought, for a moment, it would be better for her body to let her bleed out. But she knew she’d heal before long.

_ Bran _ , she thought, as her body began to heal the physical hurt. She needed him. 

_ I'm coming. _ Bran told her, as if hearing her call to him. She closed her eyes and dressed, helpless to the spell that held her. She could only sob. For now.

* * *

They came for her sometime later. A witch that wasn't Bran’s mother, who sneered past her scars and glared at Meara.

“You aren't special.” The witch snapped. “You ruined everything. I'm going to kill you soon, whether he likes it or not.”

Meara didn't respond. She just held the witch’s fiery glare with a cold gaze. The witch pointed. “Go. To the altar.” She said. Meara’s hands twitched, but she obeyed.

The altar the witches had was a stone slab decorated with candles, and not much else. The stone was rough and plain, most likely some dark granite that seemed out of place in the plain, empty warehouse. The candle wax poured off the four corners of it, pooling in the carved moat around the book in the center of the table.

The Necronomicon looked like nothing special. Old, leather bound with metal clasps, the inscription on the front cover illegible to Meara - and probably everyone else. Eric leaned on the altar, stroking the candle wax. Meara shivered; there was still blood under his nails. 

Bran’s mother beckoned to her side, and Meara silently obeyed. In human skin, Meara was shorter than the witch by barely a few inches. The witch touched her cheek. There was something in her face, not the typical sadistic smile. It wasn’t pity, but whatever it was made Meara want to scream.

“They’re coming, my sweet. Can you feel it?” She purred, running her fingers through Meara’s hair. “My children, my grandchildren. Our entire family.” 

“We’re not ready. We still can’t hold R’lyeh long enough to pull it.” One of the other witches snapped. This one was older, and she stank of her own fear. The weakest link. “You said she’d help. How is the helpless little bitch supposed to do anything?” She was looking pointedly at Meara.

Eric looked at her, and the older witch hastily turned her head away. “Don’t you remember what I said? My sweet little helper is touched by the god who slumbers therein. She could be made a key to R’lyeh. We only have to make her right.” 

Meara refused to look anywhere else but the floor. A key to R’lyeh? The thought made her feel sick to her stomach. “We don’t have  _ time _ to wait for you to find a cure that doesn’t exist.” Bran’s mother said. “She stays wolfen. Work around it.” 

Eric glared at her, standing. “It is  _ wrong _ -”

“You say that like it matters now. What do you think the beasts will do when they come to this place? We will all die before this deed is done if you do not find a way.” Bran’s mother jut her chin out. “Do not waste anymore of my precious time, Jorgensen. If it is power we need, we make use of the flesh of the wolves who will come. If it is else we need, you tell us where we find it.” She crossed her arms and waited. 

Eric swayed, stepping around the altar and towards Meara and the witch. He hands wrapped around Meara’s waist, and she flinched, violently. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head and held her close to him. “Hm…” He rumbled. “The wolf flesh will provide power, yes. Without me to help them they are vulnerable to the spell you use. Weak without my help.” 

Meara closed her eyes and forced herself not to smirk. Smug bastard. He hadn’t been paying attention. They had magic of their own; Blue Jay Woman could break the witch’s spell. Bran had power. And they had the fae to help them. 

She would see him die soon. 

_ I will kill him for you _ , Bran promised. He felt closer now. Good. 

Eric ran his hands down her sides, slipping them under her shirt and touching the mark on her back. She wanted Bran to kill him, but perhaps she should kill him herself. “This world will be perfect for us.” he whispered to her hair.

Meara closed her eyes. She just had to be patient.


	23. Chapter 23

It was night when the wolves came.

Bran's mother had her stay in human skin. Meara suspected it was because the witch had some delusion, that Bran and his people would have a hard time hurting her if they could see her human face. They gave her a long knife and had her wait in the shadows with the half fae.

Alistair Beauclaire shattered the far wall of the warehouse with a wave of magic, without looking so much as bothered by the exertion. He carried a sword, and Zee beside him carried one, too, that flamed and sang in Meara’s ears.

Adam hadn't brought his whole pack. She recognized a few scents; Honey, Darryl, and a few others of Adam’s pack. Mercy was there, mixed in the background. David, Leah, Blue Jay Woman, and Bran and his sons. Bran and Samuel had come as wolves.

Charles stood beside Zee. Bran slinked around the side with Samuel, and Adam and a brown, large wolf stalked around the other side. “This ends.” Charles called. “Tonight.”

The witches were gathered around the book. It was open, stinking of blackness and death. Eric grinned, leaning on the altar. “So it ends.” He snapped, teeth clacking. His magic pooled around them, filling the space to their knees as mist.

Beauclaire flicked his blade, and the ground cracked at his feet. The witches stumbled when the ground split at the altar. Bran’s mother called to Meara and the others, and the witches began to chant.

Typically a trio of half fae and a battered werewolf would be no match for two alphas, their pack, a Grey Lord, and another powerful fae. But there were witches on their side, so Meara was able to melt from the shadows and take Beauclaire by surprise. She slashed into his side and quickly danced away from his blade. The female half fae grabbed Warren and threw him at Honey and Darryl, right as Adam pounced on her. Bran and Samuel darted around the conflict, making a beeline for the witches. The other halflings blocked their path with magic; it knocked Samuel aside and staggered Bran.

Everything happened at once. The rest of the pack surged into the battle. Eric summoned something, half mist and half flesh. It was massive and vaguely reptilian, and when it roared it made the muscles in Meara’s neck spasm. It managed to occupy nearly everyone else, zeroing in on Charles and with wicked claws and dripping fangs.

Meara was half focused on Beauclaire and Zee, half listening for the witch. The two fae would have no doubt killed her right away, were they not holding back. She was already bleeding from her right side, where Beauclaire had slashed her, and her left shoulder was burned. Neither fae seemed apologetic in the slightest. But Meara did. She had tears stream occasionally down her cheeks.

The witches were chanting now. Bran and Samuel were fighting the half fae. All they needed was one lucky strike with claw or fang, and they could get to the witches. The room smelled like the sea. Meara’s back spasmed and ached, and she tasted blood in her mouth.

Beauclaire stabbed her in the gut. The shock of the wound knocked her on her rear, hard, and made her lose her grip on her blade. “Kill me, please” She sobbed, teeth clattering as the shivers set in, “just end this.”

Bran snarled in her mind, half hearing her words; he spun away from his battle to look at her. Beauclaire nodded, raising his blade.

_“No!”_

A wall of magic slammed into the two fae, knocking Zee and Beauclaire clean back through the hole in the wall and outside. The witches hiccuped in their chanting as Eric left their ring, flinging himself to Meara’s side. He put his hand over her bleeding core. “No, no, my sweet,” he cooed, “you mustn't die.”

Meara blinked through hot tears, and spat blood in his face.

Blue Jay Woman’s magic, smelling like the Cabinet Wilderness, broke into the ring of power the witches held. Leah leapt through the gap and darted between the witches, her wolf form of silvers and golds beautiful as she knocked over the witches and went for the book. She tore the book apart with her fangs, and passed them over the candles to catch flame. She let the burning pages scatter around the altar.

The witches screamed as one. Meara felt the thing they felt, in some small way; a horrible, cold emptiness in her stomach that made her body spasm with shivers and her skin feel ice cold. They didn’t stop screaming, pointing together at Leah - the beautiful wolf made a horrible sound before her body contorted and she fell, lifeless. Black tears seeped from her eyes.

Charles appeared, their barrier of magic gone, and snatched the eldest witch by the neck. He twisted her head till it faced the other direction. The fourth witch, the one Meara never saw, screamed as Honey came and helped Charles tear her apart.

The scarred witch shrieked and flung magic at Blue Jay Woman. It landed in her chest, hitting her like a ball of black. Blue Jay Woman made a strangled gasp as the black spread like dye in water, stumbling back. Then Charles snapped that witch’s neck, too - he went to his mother and caught her before she fell.

“No no no!” Screamed Bran’s mother. She called to Meara, cried out for her protection. Meara’s body struggled to obey, lurching towards her. She made a half attempt to crawl from Eric’s arms, turning and looking straight at the witch. And then Samuel landed on his grandmother's back and tore her head clean off.

Meara slumped as the magic left her, staring at the headless body under Samuel’s tearing claws for a moment. Now all she felt was cold rage and pain. Eric scooped her up, pressing her limp form to his chest. “No, this isn't what I wanted.” He cooed. “I still have to fix you. I still-”

Meara picked up her knife and shoved it into one side of Eric’s throat, tearing across his neck. She hit bone. His blood splattered across her face right as Bran leapt over her and closed his jaws around Eric’s head.

Meara fell, laying on her side. The concrete ground was so cold. The only warmth came from her and Eric’s blood. Through her tears, she could see Bran was tearing Eric apart. The gruesome sounds of flesh being ripped and crunched filled the air. Meara closed her eyes. Eric had died when she cut his throat. Bran was ensuring he stayed that way.

For a moment, all was deathly silent. All she felt was that ice and _rage_.

Meara opened her eyes. She stood on the snowy mountains of Montana. Bran stood a few feet away from her. He was half buried in snow, but standing, his shoulders hunched and hands very still at his sides.

Between them was a glorious, blazing rope of silver and gold. It was woven together carefully, delicately - but there were notches, frayed spots here and there that were blackened by magic. Meara saw one end pouring from Bran’s skin, as if it was made of him; the other did the same, straight from her chest.

The rope was frayed at the center, an old, rusty, iron clamp fallen in the snow. It was withering away, like ashes being scattered in the wind. The bond didn't lack her trust as much as it had been blocked by Eric’s magic, she realized. He probably set the trap in her to help the witch make contact, and to keep her from Bran.

Meara gripped the rope. Bran flinched. She walked towards him, running her fingers over the kinks and frays. They healed under touched, repaired with her love and her need. When she reached spot of thin twine, she kissed the rope, and like flowers blooming, it was woven back together and whole. Meara followed it all the way to Bran.

She ran her hands over his sides and wrapped her arms around his chest. She pressed her face to his back, and she imagined the snow melting, the sun shining and the mountain full of life. The air felt warmer, and Bran shivered.

Bran turned and looked at her. His eyes were gold, but there was a dullness to them. This, Meara understood, was not Bran. It was the beast inside him, the monster he kept caged. Meara smiled up at Bran’s wolf, leaning against his chest. She put one hand on his cheek, stroking the bone there with the softest touch. He shivered again; his hands wrapped around the sides of her neck. Not threatening or harmful, but possessive. Bran’s wolf peered down at her with a territorial fierceness that made her knees weak.

“Mine.” He whispered, voice strange and thick. “My mate.”

Meara touched his ear. Bran’s wolf was still Bran - and he was still her mate. She stood on her tiptoes so she was closer to him. “Yes,” she whispered back, closing her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was laying on her back. Bran stood over her; his fur was still splattered thickly with Eric’s blood. His golden eyes were boring into her - but they were bright, soft with affection and intimacy.

Meara reached a tired hand up and took a fistful of his fur. He came closer and licked her cheek, nuzzling against her face.

“Can we go home, now?” She asked, voice soft and cracking. She closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks.

 _Yes_ , Bran said her to, _yes we can._

* * *

The FBI and fae took on much of the cleanup. Beauclaire saw to it that Jorgensen was burned with the witches. Meara herself, despite not standing on her own two feet, saw to it the book was burned separately, as many times as it took for the ashes to become dust. Bran cradled her against his chest as she stoked a new flame over and over again. Then she swept the small pile of dust into a bag the FBI gave her, and handed it to Beauclaire.

“Scatter this and them in the sea. All of them.” She told the Grey Lord, ignoring the pain in her gut as she leaned against Bran’s arms. “Let the ocean wash it all away for good.”

Alistair put his hand on hers. His face showed he knew too much. “I will see to it personally.” He told her. She nodded, pulling her blanket tighter and hiding her face against Bran’s shoulder. He kissed her temple, murmuring softly to her.

They went back with Adam, so that Bran could help oversee the logistics and smooth out anything else. Meara bathed twice when he was busy. She scrubbed her skin scarlet and made her thighs bleed when she couldn't stop scrubbing. It was some small comfort, watching the blood drain with the water, even if some of the blood was from the still healing hole in her gut.

She would have sat and peeled away her skin a third time, too - Eric’s scent wasn't there anymore, but the memory was. But then Bran came into the bathroom, stripping down and stepping into the shower with her. He sat with her under the water, letting her sob in his arms as he whispered sweet nothings to her.

They stayed in Adam’s guest room, because when Meara scented Eric at the condo she panicked so hard she vomited. In Adam’s guest room she woke in the middle of the night, panting, crying - twice.

The first morning a fae appeared on their doorstep, a woman with glittering gold in her skin. Zee escorted her, saying that Beauclaire had sent her to heal the wounds from the conflict - mostly, the wounds he’d caused Bran’s mate while fighting her. It turned out that Charles and Warren had some deep wounds from the mist monster, alongside Meara’s own wounds.

Bran asked Samuel to check her over afterward. And she’d been alright at first; Honey, one of Adam’s wolves, sat beside her in the medical room and held her hand as she told Samuel what had happened. Samuel then touched her leg, where she’d scrubbed away the skin in the shower - a wound she hadn’t shown the fae to heal. And before Meara knew it, she was crumpled in the far corner. Honey was standing with her back to her, between her and Samuel. Samuel was kneeling - kneeling to _her_ , not Honey, his eyes soft and sorry.

Someone was making a horrible, panicked noise, like wheezing and crying mixed together. It took Meara a moment to realize it was _her_ making the noise, between her clattering teeth. She closed her jaw with a snap and broke into horrific sobs. Honey turned and knelt, too, and Meara crawled into her arms. Bran came, and Meara, in a moment of shock, shied away from his touch. Her tears became those of shame.

Mercy sat down with her in private the day they planned to go home. Bran didn't know what she said to Meara, and he wouldn't ask. But when they were done, Meara walked with her back little straighter and her chin a little higher.

They took the ashes of Leah and Blue Jay Woman home with them, to scatter them in the canyon. On the plane, Meara napped; mostly, Bran suspected, because she knew a frightened Omega confined with dominant wolves in a small space was a recipe for disaster. She curled up in the forward facing bench seat on the back of the jet, with Adda nestled against her side. David was a protective shadow over them, sitting next to Samuel as they watched the pair sleep.

“We still don’t know what will happen to us.” David said to Samuel. “Adda and I. We don’t know what will happen with the witches dead. But I have a likeness for the home your father built, and I think Adda would benefit staying there. Near her, especially.” David watched Meara pull a little closer to Adda, tugging the blanket tighter around them. “I think I’d like to be near her, too. And my son.” He added as an afterthought.

“I think Da would like that.” Samuel said softly. Bran didn’t say so, but he did.

* * *

Bran hadn’t felt helpless for a very, very long time. But as he was able to do little else but watch Meara struggle to return to their normal, he felt that helplessness again. The first few days being home, the pack would come and see her. Meara was still a frightened mess, even with the safety of her pack. But what was the worst for her was when Asil had to leave suddenly and sharply, because of _her._ Because her fear and her pain frayed at his control, and that tore Meara apart.

She shied from Bran’s touch, too, at times. Usually, she was content to sit and be held against him, tight and safe in his arms. But sometimes, she looked at him and all she felt was fear. Those times, she wasn't seeing him. She was seeing Eric, seeing his hands in Bran’s hands and hearing his rambles in Bran’s soft voice.

Bran did not seek Anna’s advice, but she came to give it anyways.

“Patience will be the best thing you can give her. It's going to take her a while to get through this.” Anna said sadly. “It's important she's in control of her situation. Not only did it happen, but she had no control over her body. She wanted to fight and she couldn't even do that.”

“She told me.” Bran said softly; his voice was sharp as the edge of a knife. His wolf hadn’t been able to truly settle, yet, with all this pain his mate was in. And he didn't dare seek Meara’s comfort to soothe it. “Everything. All of it.”

Anna considered for a moment. “She trusts you. It took me a while to tell Charles everything. That's good.” She pat Bran’s arm. Meara hadn't been able to soothe or help anyone, but Anna helped a little. “You have to wait for her, but you also are going to have to help her take control of herself again.”

Bran nodded. As tired of waiting as he was - for her, for this, he'd wait as long as he needed to.

Meara came to the study that night. He stayed there, in front of the lit fireplace. She closed the door behind her. She looked like she had when she first came.to Aspen Creek, minus the nearly healed injuries. Quiet, sheepish, and frightened. But even in that first day, when she looked at him, she hadn't been as nearly as afraid as anyone else would have. It had annoyed him slightly, back then. Like a lamb growing too comfortable with a wolf at its throat.

Now, she didn't look at him in fear, either. Now that did anything but annoy him.

“Anna spoke to me.” She told him softly.

“Anna spoke to me, too.” He responded, peering at the fire.

Meara came across the room and knelt beside him. Her eyes were lighter, her posture more confident than she'd been since coming home. “I'd forgotten.” She said. “Jillian’s mother. Yolanda. I look like her, a lot. He wasn't obsessed with me because I was special or important. He missed his wife, and saw her when he looked at me. That's why he hated you.” She met his eye through her lashes. “Not because I'm a werewolf. Because he was jealous.”

Bran nodded. His hand brushed her arm, and she didn't shy away. Instead, she leaned into his side. “I forget sometimes, that I'm not human anymore.” She murmured, hesitantly.

“You are still young.” Bran said. “You were not given the choice to start this right.”

“A lot of choices have been taken from me.” She whispered.

“Yes.”

Meara watched him for a moment. He turned, gazing at her. She slowly reached and touched his cheek. “I’ve been...lonely for a while. Even before becoming a werewolf. My life was just going on, and I was just dragged along for the ride. The only thing I could do was ensure the people around me were happy and taken care of. But you gave me control again, gave me my choice.” She took a deep breath. “If I wanted to leave and never come back, would you let me? If I said that was what I needed?”

Bran blinked. He reached up and touched her hand, holding it when she didn't flinch away.

“No-” He said, before shaking his head. “I would rather die than let you go. I couldn't - you are _mine_.” The thought made him angry, made the wolf stir and shake.

Her expression revealed nothing. Bran’s eyes were gold. “But if that is what you need of me,” he whispered, “then I must."

Meara blinked. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. He stayed ever so still, letting her lead her lips against his - one wrong move and she would be gone again, reduced to nothing but panic and fear.

“I'd rather die than leave you.” Meara whispered, putting one hand on his shoulder. She crawled into his lap and straddled him, eyes a soft silver.

“You are free here,” he told her, holding her hands and not her waist, “I will never take your choices away from you. You have control of your own life.” And he meant it. She was his mate; but she was an Omega. Even if she wasn’t, never would he force her to do anything, or go anywhere. She would have her freedom to live, even if it meant disobeying him and annoying him sometimes. "I love you." Bran said, tone serious. Meara smiled.

She kissed him again, pouring her heart through their bond. And as she pushed his back against the persian rug, he gave her all his love, all he was for her. She smiled at him. Things weren’t quite right yet for them, but for now, they would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end - for now.  
> I'll definitely be writing more in the future; I really, really love all of Patty Briggs' works. I absolutely want to write a sequel for this work, and I'm working on stuff for other characters, as well. I had a lot of fun writing this, and I'm kind of sad it's finished - though I'm also very, very proud of myself, because this is the first time I've literally EVER managed to finish a story.  
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! 
> 
> ~Witchy


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